


Corrupted

by Autumnfrore



Series: Corrupted [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Viruses, Awkward Flirting, Awkward MC, Bad Cop Connor, Connor needs repairs, Dark, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Fingering, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, Memory Corruption, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Robo Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, Wire Play, peaceful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumnfrore/pseuds/Autumnfrore
Summary: Weeks after Markus's successful protest and the evacuation of Detroit, a trail of android bodies lead Detective Connor and Lieutenant Hank Anderson to your door. It’s soon apparent you bit off more than you can chew — you intended to help androids, but can’t help falling for the detective amidst this new crisis.





	1. Privacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rk800downloading](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rk800downloading/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit of an idea where I want to go with this — but I'm still working out some kinks so let me know what you think in the comments.

You shouldn't have been surprised. Things were chaotic after androids won their freedom, but you had thought it would be a while before anyone came to you asking questions about your old job.

Let alone some grisly police lieutenant and the famous RK800 prototype lent to the DPD.

You bit back the urge to tell them you weren't doing anything illegal — _Wasn't that always what guilty people said?_ With your arms crossed, you leaned back against your work desk, trying to look calm.

"We just need to ask you a few questions," Lieutenant Hank Anderson said, eyeing you perceptively. They both were, and you realized nothing would go unnoticed in front of these two — you'd have to be careful with your words and body language.

You offered what you hoped was a convincing grin. "Of course, what can I help you with?"

The RK800 android, who had introduced himself as Connor, reached out to touch your computer on the desk. His synthetic skin dissolved from his fingertips up to the sleeve of his jacket.

"Wait — what are you doing?" The words slipped out, sounding slightly panicked, before you could stop yourself.

Lieutenant Anderson quirked a brow, and Connor withdrew his hand, head tilting slightly as he looked at you with what appeared to be confusion.

"I'm sorry. I need you to look at a picture. It wasn't my intention to—"

_Calm down_ , you thought, holding back a sigh of relief. _He isn't downloading all of your records and notes. They're not here about your work._

"Sorry." You returned his gaze and tried to avoid giving any tells that he could analyze, "Just...it's courteous to ask before you start interfacing with other people's stuff." The lieutenant seemed to find that amusing, letting loose a huff of barely-concealed laughter. You turned your attention towards your computer. "What do you want me to look at?"

Connor hesitantly reached back towards the computer asking, "May I?"

You nodded, and his skin dissolved again, revealing the white plastic shell. The computer screen flickered to life as Connor pulled up an image — one of three androids in a dark and dingy hotel room. All three had their eyes open, skin removed, and based on the way they were draped over furniture or laid on the floor, you guessed they were in standby. _But why do they look like that?_ _... That’s strange,_ You thought, peering closer.

"Another android called it in — apparently hadn't heard from his buddy in a couple of days only to drop by and find this," Lieutenant Anderson explained.

_He called the DPD... but that means..._ You forced your mouth to move, "Are they all dead?"

"Yes." Connor's affirmative rang in your ears as you stared at the three androids. You wanted to — no _needed_ to — ask what happened... but something stopped you. _Wait, what does this have to do with me?_

"Why..." You tried to sound as calm as possible with your heart fluttering against your chest, "Why are you showing me this?"

"See him right there?" Lieutenant Anderson's finger jutted into your vision as he pointed at the android propped up against a nightstand. "He's the one whose buddy called us. They also told us he'd been in for maintenance recently and gave us your name."

_So he was one of my patients_ , you realized.

"You were also the last to see him alive," Connor adds.

That's when your heart stopped. You looked away from the image only to see Connor's brown eyes staring directly at you, no doubt scanning and analyzing you incessantly.

_Fuck._

It took everything in you not to groan — enough crime shows had taught you that "last to see him alive" was code for "possible suspect".

"What kind of maintenance did you perform?" Lieutenant Anderson asked.

"I-I don't..." You took another look at the image, but his face shared the same shape as several of your patients. "What was his name?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"He was a model PL600," Connor answered.

You tried not to glare at him — the way a stray lock of hair fell into his forehead and brown eyes watched you made any irritation die — it seemed like he just wanted to be helpful. Instead, you turned to Lieutenant Anderson. "You said you talked to his friend, what was the android's name?"

The lieutenant hesitated, "Why do you need to know that?"

"I need it for my records," You replied, minimizing the crime scene photo and opening up your detailed maintenance logs, "So I can look up his file."

"He was a model PL600, serial number #305 659 004," Connor tried again.

You sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose, "I don't like to label their logs by serial number — It's too... impersonal. I've seen half a dozen PL600s since November 11th, so I need his name. You probably interfaced with him, right? What was his name?"

The lieutenant and Connor exchanged a look you didn't quite understand, but neither answered you. _Maybe Connor doesn't probe androids he can't get permission from? Maybe he finds it too invasive?_ You thought, feeling a bit ashamed that you assumed he did to find out what happened. Android culture and manners were new, not just to you, but you knew the boundaries were important.

"The memory probe was," Connor hesitates, "Inconclusive."

Your relief was quickly replaced by confusion, "Inconclusive? Pulling a registered name is easy." Even if an android needed temporary reactivation, their name should be an easily-accessible variable. You knew that, so why? You sighed and shook yourself out of your thoughts.

"Can we see all of your PL600 logs?" Connor asked.

"...No."

The lieutenant quirked an eyebrow at you. "Why not?"

"They..." You hesitated, trying to find the right words, "These are their personal records — I can't just hand them over if they have no relevance to this case."

Connor actually looked shocked. As deviancy increased, you'd watched androids grow more and more expressive, and seeing his widened eyes only cemented your stance.

"Of course it's relevant to the case! One of them is dead," Lieutenant Anderson growled.

"But the others aren't." You looked the lieutenant straight in the eyes. "It's an invasion of privacy to turn over all their maintenance records without their permission or a warrant. Do you have a warrant?"

Connor and Lieutenant Anderson shared another glance. You wished you could tell what they were trying to communicate, but the sinking feeling in your gut signaled that you didn't really want to know.

Connor looked back at you, his LED glowing faint yellow, "Why do you care about their privacy? You do realize you're interfering with an investigation."

There it was — the implied "obstruction of justice" on top of "the last to see him alive". You bit your lip, struggling to keep your resolve.

"Androids have the same rights as humans now." Your gaze didn't leave Connor's still-yellow LED. "I wouldn't hand over half a dozen medical records for humans without a warrant either."

Lieutenant Anderson crossed his arms and _smiled_ at you. Not a full-on pearly whites smile, but a warm smirk all the same. He nodded, in what you guessed was approval before sighing. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to come with us, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor *looks at computer*  
> MC: DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF  
> Connor: Jfk I just wanted to show u some android corpses chill out ok.


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Connor leaned in behind you, his hands on either side of yours on the table. You felt his lips brush your hair as you froze, unable to move or even breathe. "I noticed how your heart raced and your blood pressure rose when I interfaced with your computer," He whispered right against your ear, to be sure you wouldn't miss a word. "You panicked... Didn't you?"
> 
> It wasn't supposed to be like this — You just wanted to protect them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about combining this with chapter one, but I had written them separately and opted to keep them that way. Please let me know what you think in the comments!

The back of Lieutenant Anderson's old car was not comfortable. Neither was the screeching heavy metal that he blared, but you tried to focus on that discomfort to distract you. Neither of them spoke to you all the way to the station — Lieutenant Anderson seemed content to listen to the cacophony of noise, while Connor pulled out a shiny silver coin and began flipping it between his hands and across his knuckles. It was mesmerizing — he didn't even have to look at what he was doing, yet he never dropped it. You wanted to ask how long he'd been doing that for to figure out if it was a nervous tick, some fine motor calibration exercise, or a mix of both, but before you could, Lieutenant Anderson confiscated the coin at a stoplight.

And then there was nothing to alleviate the growing feeling of dread that settled over you all the way to the interrogation room. You must have watched too many cop shows because they didn't cuff you and chain you to the table like you'd been expecting, but there _was_ a giant mirror against the wall that you struggled to avoid looking at.

The lieutenant didn't speak for a while. He settled into the chair opposite you and flipped through an honest-to-god manilla folder with paper inside it. _That's probably just for show_ , you thought, only moments before he thrust a printed version of the photo you'd seen earlier in your direction.

"We've got three dead androids," He started, leaning towards you, "It would really help us out if you could hand over those records — let us know what the victim saw you for."

_Why is he saying this again?_ You thought, eyes flicking to the mirror, _They're recording this... aren't they_. Avoiding the urge to bite your lip, you looked the lieutenant straight in the eyes.

"You asked me this earlier, but I can't just hand over those maintenance logs, Lieutenant." You didn't see the use in reliving the previous conversation for whoever was watching on the other side of the glass.

Lieutenant Anderson leaned in even further. "I'm giving you the chance to help us figure out what happened. Once we can verify what kind of maintenance the victim received, I'll get out of your hair."

"And I'd be happy to help if you would just tell me who he was. I can figure out which log is his if you gave me his name," You replied, trying not to sound too irritated as you were forced to repeat yourself.

He hesitated and leaned back to scratch his beard. "I can't give you that information."

"Why not?"

"It's...part of the case."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Well, then I can't help you. I can't hand over all those other androids' logs without a warrant!"

Both of you stared at each other, each unable or unwilling to give up more information. The hypocrisy of it wasn't lost on you — what, you were expected to hand over a whole group of personal android maintenance logs, but they wouldn't tell you the victim's name because it was part of their case?

Lieutenant Anderson waited a moment longer, but when he realized you weren't going to speak up, he shrugged and pushed off the chair to leave. "Well, you had the chance to do this the easy way."

What was that supposed to mean?

The lieutenant didn't elaborate. Once the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding and glanced back down at the photograph of the three dead androids. _What did they die from?_ You found yourself wondering, still creeped out by the lack of blue blood or evident wounds.

Someone else sat down in the chair across from you.

When you looked up from the photo, Connor's brown eyes bored into you, with an almost accusatory glare. Your heart raced, and you felt more vulnerable once you realized that Connor probably analyzed that.

"Hank may believe your excuse about protecting the androids' privacy, but I don't."

Your heart even beat faster.

"In fact," Connor continued, leaning forward and never tearing his gaze away, "I think there's a different reason you don't want us to see those logs."

_Why?..._ You stared back at his perfectly sculpted face, petrified. A chill rushed over your skin as Connor advanced. He was so close you could see the gold flecks in his irises.

"I think," He paused, as if daring you to speak up, "You don't want us to know how many androids you've shut down."

"What?!" You yelped, unable to stop yourself from glancing towards the mirror where you knew others were watching. "You think I...that I-I killed them?"

"How many androids?"

"N-None! I haven't killed anyone!"

"Three androids — All shut down!" Connor was out of his chair now, shoving the photograph in your face. "We know you worked on one of them, why not all three?"

"I-I didn't-"

Connor's artificial breath brushed your skin as he approached you again. "You reprogrammed him to shut down at a later time, once he was too far away to implicate you, and you set him to corrupt his own memories so it couldn't be traced back to your little side business."

_Fuck,_ you thought, unable to stop the panic from rising, _Oh my God..._ You tried, and failed, to stable yourself with a deep breath.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Connor leaned in behind you, his hands on either side of yours on the table. You felt his lips brush your hair as you froze, unable to move or even breathe. "I noticed how your heart raced and your blood pressure rose when I interfaced with your computer," He whispered right against your ear, to be sure you wouldn't miss a word. "You panicked... Didn't you?"

It wasn't supposed to be like this — you just wanted to protect them.

"I didn't make those androids shut down," you insisted, unsure if your words even reached Connor as he circled the table.

"It must have been difficult — losing your job. You probably thought you were safe."

_He's looking for a motive..._ you resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands as you realized where he was leading.

"Were you angry when you saw the news?" Connor's palms pressed into the table as he stood over you, "Angry that some malfunctioning machines ruined your promising career at CyberLife?"

You gritted your teeth. "We both know they weren't malfunctioning. Androids are alive. _You_ are alive — Why are you saying this? If I thought they were just machines, I would have just turned over those logs when you asked me to the first time!"

With newfound courage, you met his eyes and returned his glare. If he wanted to try and rile you up, you'd let him try his worst. You were _not_ getting lumped in with the rest of them— you were risking yourself to protect the privacy of your patients, and all he saw was _CyberLife._ Connor's LED shifted to yellow under the intensity of your stare. _Think about that, Connor._

Suddenly, his still-yellow LED pulsed, and his eyes unfocused for a moment. _Who is he talking to?_ You wondered. You didn't have to wait long. A second later, Connor's LED turned blue and his eyes returned to you. Then, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile.

"We have our warrant," He announced, and without another word, he turned his back on you to leave the interrogation room.

Your eyes widened. "W-Wait! What are you going to do with me?"

Connor froze. Before he could reply, the door slid open, to reveal Lieutenant Anderson waiting, with his arms crossed. But instead of joining him right away, Connor hesitated. You could see his LED change back to yellow with the way his head was tilted towards you.

"I hope my partner's faith in your intentions isn't misplaced," Connor said, barely loud enough to be heard, "It would be nice if someone from CyberLife really was on our side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Hey, MC I heard you like bad boys.  
> MC: Um... No?  
> Connor: Phew, because I only know how to be a bad COP in good cop bad cop.


	3. Probe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rap of knuckles on the glass startled you out of your thoughts. Lieutenant Anderson stood there with one hand in his raggedy coat pocket and Connor a few steps behind him.
> 
> You raised your eyebrows at both of them. "Found what you were looking for?"
> 
> "Well kid, we've got good news and bad news," Lieutenant Anderson started, "Which do you want first?"
> 
> "The bad news, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I've been stunned by the reaction to this fic. I'm so grateful to everyone who left a kudos or comment — I read all of them and they meant a lot to me.  
> I don't know how long I'll keep up the daily updates (Chapter 4 is already longer than these last 3), but I'll continue my best to update regularly.

There wasn't much to do after Connor and Lieutenant Anderson left. An officer escorted you to a holding cell — a dull white room with a small cot and a wall of clear glass for them to keep an eye on you. Sitting on the cot with your back to the wall didn't provide much comfort or entertainment. Your mind drifted back to the coin Connor was playing with during the car ride over, and you found yourself wishing you had something like that to fiddle with, something to do with yourself other than wait until they returned from searching your computer.

Sure, they'd probably find the stolen blueprints and software, but at least it would hopefully clear Connor's suspicions that you'd been murdering androids.

With a sigh, you let your head fall back. _Nothing to do but wait,_ You thought unhappily, drumming your fingers against your knees. A minute passed, then two, and that photograph of the three deactivated androids flashed behind your eyes. If Connor and the lieutenant hadn't told you they were dead, you would have guessed they just took their skin off and went into stasis on the floor — although that scenario seemed a little strange.

Even stranger, though, was Connor's words when he accused you: _"You reprogrammed him to shut down... to corrupt his own memories."_ So, the androids had just shut down; they weren't hurt or malfunctioning.

Then you remembered something else Connor said: _"The memory probe was... Inconclusive."_

Lieutenant Anderson lied — they weren't withholding your patient's name because it was private case information, they _didn't know_ because they couldn't get anything off the android's memory _._ No wonder Connor suspected you. That kind of effective memory tampering required an intimate knowledge of android software.

A rap of knuckles on the glass startled you out of your thoughts. Lieutenant Anderson stood there with one hand in his raggedy coat pocket and Connor a few steps behind him.

You raised your eyebrows at both of them. "Found what you were looking for?"

"Well kid, we've got good news and bad news," Lieutenant Anderson started, "Which do you want first?"

"The bad news, please."

Connor's LED shifted to yellow. "We found what you didn't want me to see on your computer," He stated, "The CyberLife blueprints and software you should have handed over once your employment contract was terminated — and records of you using those software and hardware blueprints on androids without authorization from CyberLife."

You knew they'd find it, but hearing Connor say it out loud still made your stomach drop. "And the good news?"

"Everything you used was CyberLife certified," Lieutenant Anderson said, as he pressed his palm against the scanner to open the door to your cell. "None of the software you've got would have killed those androids."

With a sigh of relief, you hopped down from the cot and walked out of the cell only to be stopped when Connor stepped in front of your path.

"It seems I owe you an apology," Connor muttered. "Hank informed me that I was hasty in my accusation during your interrogation. I hope you'll forgive me."

The lieutenant in question was trying, and failing, to hide a smile by pretending to scratch his beard. You returned your gaze to Connor, whose eyes hadn't left you since his sincere apology.

"It's... Alright. I think I understand why you were convinced it might have been me. You were just trying to do your job." Connor's LED pulsed yellow, and the tension left his shoulders. Your mind returned to what you realized during your time in the cell as you looked at Lieutenant Anderson, "Connor couldn't get anything off the androids, could he? No cause of shutdown or last memories?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Something he said during the interrogation... and you wouldn't — no, couldn't — give me the victim's name for his maintenance log. The victim's memory was corrupted."

Lieutenant Anderson crossed his arms and nodded at you, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Connor couldn't pull that information with his probe," You continued, "But..."

"But you think you can," Connor realized, brown eyes widening.

"If you can get him to my terminal, I'll see what I can do."

 

It didn't take long for you to get your equipment set up in the corner of the DPD's basement. There weren't any rules yet on moving android victims whose bodies were part of an ongoing investigation, but packing a corpse, android or human, into the back of the lieutenant's car seemed questionable at best. Luckily, Connor and Lieutenant Anderson still had your computer with them from when they thought it was evidence.

With your software library and some android maintenance equipment borrowed from the station androids, the set-up was almost identical to the one you'd been using these past few weeks.

Almost.

The PL600 was even creepier in person. It wasn't the lack of clothes, skin, or even the human-like movement CyberLife had been programming in their androids to make them more comfortable to live with, but his eyes that unnerved you. Instead of their standard color, they were black and unfocused as he stared at some unknown thing he'd seen before he shut down. You bit back a sigh and began hooking up your equipment.

"So, uh," Lieutenant Anderson started, staring at you as he leaned against the wall, "I gotta ask... Is this going to take a while?"

"Based on the fact that Connor's probe couldn't find anything? Yeah, I'd say this is going to take a while — I have a couple of things I need to try."

"Fuck," The lieutenant groaned, "In that case, I'm starving and I'm gonna head out to lunch." He nodded your way. "What about you? You've been here all morning; you want anything? A burger?"

"Hank, I must advise you not to go to Chicken Feed again. The amount of cholesterol alone-"

Lieutenant Anderson silenced Connor with his middle finger as he continued to stare at you expectantly.

"Um... sure. Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson."

Connor looked at you worriedly. "You may be younger, but I don't think you should-"

"Shove it up your ass, Connor. She's had a hard day. And call me Hank, no more of that 'Lieutenant' shit," Hank shouted over his shoulder as he left the basement.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the two of you in silence. The seconds ticked by, but Connor didn't seem to want to start talking.

"Is he, um, always like that?" You asked.

"Are you referring to his profanity, unhealthy eating habits, or lack of workplace formality?"

You could barely hide your smile, let alone stifle the giggle that rose in your throat. Sure, the RK800 was a prototype detective model with interrogation and negotiation skills, and his delivery was utterly deadpan, but you couldn't miss the amused quirk of his brow. As you finished connecting the dead android and began trying to upload all you could, Connor spoke up again.

"Is it alright if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead."

In the periphery of your vision, you could see Connor sit on the desk next to the computer you worked on and fold his hands in his lap. "Why did you steal from CyberLife?"

_Oh, of course,_ you thought, biting your lip. It didn't seem like Connor or Hank were going to press the theft before, so you thought they'd dropped it in favor of finding out who or what caused the androids to shut down. With Connor's perceptive stare trained on you, answering honestly seemed like the best route.

"During the revolution, I saw a lot of those androids get shot and injured. I doubted CyberLife would be willing to provide repairs or maintenance without a human forking over the money for it."

As you spoke, you noticed Connor leaning in closer, and when you stopped talking, he tilted his head. "You were offering those repairs and software services for free?"

"Well, yeah." You blinked at him in surprise. "Or at least for a discount. How were they supposed to get what they needed without money?"

His LED flashed yellow at your words. After a moment of processing, he resumed his questioning, "Were you lying about your views on android privacy because you didn't want us to find the stolen blueprints and software?"

"What?!" You frowned at him, but Connor only watched you expectantly — probably analyzing you — waiting for your answer. You sighed, resigned. "I didn't lie about that. Whether my patients saw me to be treated for bullets they took for the revolution, an injury they received from their previous owners, or a basic software check after deviating, they deserve the same respect a human patient would get."

Connor fell silent again, and you took the opportunity to try running a few subroutines, feed some code to the PL600, as you weren't succeeding in pulling anything from him.

"I feel like I should apologize again," Connor said softly.

"Why?"

His LED stayed yellow as he kept his gaze straight ahead, avoiding you. "You helped androids without getting anything for your services — and right after you'd lost your job, your source of income."

You shrugged but didn't know how to respond to that. _I have_ _a lot to make up for,_ you thought, keeping your mouth shut. That kind of guilt wasn't something you felt like sharing — Connor didn't need your life's story.

_"Fuck,"_ You huffed under your breath as your latest attempts to get any data back from the PL600 failed.

"You share Hank's taste in profanity?"

A blush flooded your cheeks at Connor's offhanded observation, and you rounded on him defensively. "Sometimes we need to let off a bit of steam at bad news, okay?"

Connor's lips quirked up at your response. "You're not finding anything?"

"No, I-" You paused, typing furiously on your computer. "It's like I'm chasing something and every time I almost see it, it's gone. Maybe I need to be faster..."

"I did warn you that I couldn't find anything either." When Connor spoke, his breath tickled your ear, causing you to jump.  _When did he get that close?!_

_"Connor!_ What the hell are you doing!" Hank barked from behind you. You jumped again — you hadn't even heard him come back.

"Nothing, Hank," Connor replied calmly, slowly leaning back, "She was just sharing that her probe was inconclusive as well."

Hank huffed a sigh. "Here, catch," He said, and tossed a wrapped burger your way.

Before you could react, Connor's hand jumped out and snatched it from in front of you. He frowned at Hank. "You shouldn't throw things at her, Lieutenant."

"Ugh." Hank gave the most dramatic eye roll you'd probably seen in your life, and turned to you to whisper behind his hand, "These days, he only calls me Lieutenant when he's mad at me."

Connor's eyes narrowed, "I have excellent audio processors, Hank." He then passed the burger to you, and you were stunned yet again at how life-like androids' synthetic skin felt — your fingers tingled from where your hands had touched.

"Great, well, you're going to eat that in the car," Hank said, pointing at the burger you were now holding, "We've got more of these shutdown androids to visit. Maybe this time you two can learn something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank *Dragging Connor by his ear*: Connor has something he wanted to say to you.  
> Connor: ... I'm sorry for yelling at you.  
> Hank: And?  
> Connor: And for accusing you of murder.  
> Hank: AND?!  
> Connor: And for recording your reaction during the entire thing to my memory banks so I can rewatch it later.  
> Hank: Wait, what?  
> Connor: ... What?


	4. Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The probability of a memory probe failing again was very high," Connor said, observing your expression curiously. "It didn't work on the previous android when either of us tried."
> 
> "This time it was different. It worked... well, kind of."
> 
> You bit your lip and stared back into the now-dead screen. Your own worried face swam in the reflection. This computer had worked with thousands of androids while you were at Cyberlife, and several dozens after the revolution, and it had never overloaded or shut down like this — it was built to handle complex android maintenance and software uploads.
> 
> So what happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are starting to get a bit longer — I hope that's okay! I kind of just let them end wherever they feel like ending.  
> Thank you to everyone who has left a kudos or comment —They mean so much to me. I'm glad y'all are enjoying it!

"We got the call from another android," Hank explained, somehow managing to speak over the heavy metal he was blasting in his car _again,_ "His lover started acting strangely and then just shut down. First responders let us know the state she was in was similar to the other androids we found, but we can't be sure yet."

You leaned forward to make sure Hank could hear you over the music, "Similar, how?"

"You know," Hank said, shrugging, "No skin, creepy eyes, no sign of injury."

With a sigh, you leaned back into your seat, a feeling of dread building in your gut. Part of you hoped it was just a freak occurrence, a once-in-a-lifetime malfunction that should never _ever_ happen again. Being unable to pull anything of the dead PL600 didn't sit right with you — you should have gotten at least _something._ You tried to push the unease from your mind as you unwrapped the burger Hank bought you.

"I'd advise you not to eat that," Connor warned again, leaning in closer.

"Lay off, Connor." Hank's blue eyes met yours in the rearview mirror. "And why the hell did _you_ have to sit in the back? I feel like a damn cab driver."

You'd wondered the same thing yourself since Connor previously sat in the front with Hank on the way _to_ the precinct, but for some reason climbed into the cramped back seat with you this time. Connor didn't answer, continuing his staring at you. The intensity made you a little self-conscious, but you were starving. Trying to ignore him, you took a bite.

"I feel obligated to inform you that the owner of Chicken Feed, the man who made that burger, was charged with several health code violations and was subsequently given a "C" sanitation rating."

_Oh my god._ You spit it out. _Fuck._

"Connor!"

Hank fumed in the front seat, but Connor only gave him an innocent glance before looking at you again. "I thought it was relevant information."

"You couldn't have told me that _before_ I put it in my mouth?" You blinked at him, incredulously.

His LED spun and changed yellow. "In hindsight, I should have considered that."

"Hindsight, my ass," Hank growled, "That was perfectly good food."

"You need to update your definition of 'good,' Hank," Connor replied, calmly, "Even if the food hygiene license was renewed, there's very little nutritional value-"

"Fine," Hank interrupted, "We'll go somewhere after you two check out this android and get a salad or something."

The car jerked to a stop in front of a ridiculously decrepit apartment building. Hank got out and slammed the door behind him so hard that the car shook. When you looked back at Connor, he straightened his CyberLife jacket and tie and dazzled you with a smirk before stepping out of the car. You stayed frozen a while longer, trying to pick your jaw up off the floor and slow your heartbeat — you could only pray Connor's smirk was for Hank, and not directed at you and the flush coloring your cheeks.

_Why did someone have to give such a good-looking android the ability to scan heart rates and blood pressure anyway?_

Once you'd composed yourself, you retrieved your computer and some cables you'd borrowed at the station from the trunk of Hank's car. You followed Connor inside the building and up some stairs. The entire complex was dark and dusty, and you could hear yelling from some apartment on the other side of the first floor. Connor didn't seem bothered at all by the noise or the state of the place as he forged ahead up the steps to the second floor and into the first open door on the right. You sighed. This wasn't how you pictured your day going.

The first thing you noticed about the studio apartment is that it had no furniture aside from a table with two chairs. You knew androids didn't _need_ a lot of the furniture that humans cluttered their living space with, but it was still strange to see the apartment so empty.

So empty and so... run-down albeit tidy. The pair of androids took great care of the place because it was clean, nearly immaculate, even though the rest of the building looked ready to collapse to dust. You'd finished observing the room just in time to see the skin on Connor's right hand dissolve away as he moved to probe the skinless female android strewn on the floor.

"That's not going to work!" A male voice cried. The source was an HR400 model sitting next to the female android's body — synthetic tears ran down his cheeks as he blocked Connor's hand. "I tried over and over."

As if to prove his point, he intertwined his fingers with hers, skin vanishing as he wrapped her white hand in both of his. Blue light glowed from his palms, but hers remained dim. The HR400 let one of his hands down to stroke her plastic cheek, and when she didn't show any response, he pressed his lips to her fingers and choked back a sob.

Connor took a step back to you, and the skin over his hand reactivated as his LED pulsed yellow. Neither of you knew what to say as you silently watched the scene unfold.

"Hey," Hank stepped forward and put a hand on the HR's shoulder, "I know this is tough, but I need to ask you a few questions — let my friends here do their job."

With a longing glance back at the female android, the HR400 climbed to his feet and followed Hank to the lone table on the other side of the room. You crouched down to inspect the female android; even without her skin, you could tell that her face was that of an AX400. Connor hovered over you and the android hesitantly as you set up your computer and plugged the cable running from it into the back of her neck. Hank and the HR400's voices faded into the background as you pulled all the data you could from the AX400.

Which was nothing.

_Damn it,_ you thought, gritting your teeth as you hit the same wall you did earlier. _There has to be_ something _here! She was fully functional just an hour ago!_ You were about to try manually forcing a diagnostic when Hank's earlier words came back to you: _"She started acting strangely and then just shut down."_ You pulled up a resetting prompt. Maybe you could pull data from the last time she reset — before her behavior changed. You almost dropped the computer when the screen flickered to life:

 

**// Model AX400**

**Serial # 3_% ^ &c h3l**

 

**///b_0s ###########**

 

**///R.eb0..t...**

 

**///M_3_0ry...**

 

Corrupted data logs poured across your screen faster than your eyes could take it in, and your computer switched off. _What was that?_ Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you frantically pushed the power button.

Your computer didn't respond. Again, you tried to power it up, but nothing happened. _No, no no, don't do this now!_ You slammed your finger on the switch over and over, more panicked than that time your computer shut off while writing a term paper in your university days.

But still, nothing happened.

"Why is the screen dark?" Sometime during your quiet temper tantrum, Connor had approached you from behind and was now looking at the computer over your shoulder.

Your mouth suddenly felt too dry. "I-I don't know. I tried to pull her memory from a previous reset but..."

"The probability of a memory probe failing again was very high," Connor said, observing your expression curiously. "It didn't work on the previous android when either of us tried."

"This time it was different. It worked... well, kind of."

You bit your lip and stared back into the now-dead screen. Your own worried face swam in the reflection. This computer had worked with thousands of androids while you were at CyberLife, and several dozens after the revolution, and it had _never_ overloaded or shut down like this — it was built to handle complex android maintenance and software uploads.

_So what happened?_

You tried everything you could think of — a hard reset, opening the panel on the back and checking the hardware, shaking it (okay, maybe that one was just out of frustration), but your computer stayed dark. _Damn it,_ you thought, as your gut twisted. Your whole livelihood had been on this thing. Without CyberLife, you couldn't afford another one. How were you supposed to help your patients, now? Hot tears stung the corners of your eyes as you stared at the now-worthless computer.

A hand rested on your shoulder. You jumped and saw Connor still behind you. His eyes were watching you — scanning, scanning, probably analyzing. You struggled to slow your racing heartbeat and morph your face back into something neutral.

But of course a detective prototype worth a small fortune wasn't going to fall for that.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

Small lines appeared between Connor's brows. "You know that I can tell you're lying to me."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Because..." Connor hesitated, and his LED pulsed, but remained a cool blue, "It's polite to ask humans about their feelings instead of simply monitor your stress levels, isn't it?"

You tried not to snort. "But you _are_ monitoring my stress levels."

"I..." He hesitated again, and you raised an eyebrow at him, "Yes I am, but if you'd like for me to turn it off, I can-"

"No," You interrupted him, "I'm not going to ask you to switch off some part of you just because it's more comfortable for me." _Dear God you are going to regret this later,_ You thought, trying to push it off as a problem for future you.

Connor's fingers twitched, tightening around your shoulder. He seemed to be processing, staring at you without saying anything. It was... unnerving to say the least.

"Give me your computer," He finally said. "I'll speak with Hank about getting you a replacement."

_Wait, what?!_ Your eyes widened and your chest flooded with warmth, hope. _Could they even do that?_ After a few seconds, you nodded slowly and passed it into Connor's open hand. He gave your shoulder another final squeeze before taking the broken computer over to Hank.

You didn't even notice the HR400 wasn't by his side anymore.

"Did you—Did you find out what happened to Lily?" He stood behind you, in the exact spot Connor had been only moments before. _So the AX400's name was Lily,_ you thought, making a mental note to add that to her file if you could ever recover those corrupted logs. When you didn't speak up right away, he continued, "The lieutenant said you were an 'android doctor'... that you could help her?"

You would have to speak with Hank about his terminology later.

"What's your name?" You asked, realizing you'd been calling him 'HR400' in your head for longer than you felt comfortable with.

"It's Wallace — but what about Lily?"

You bit your tongue. Wallace's tears had stopped falling, but the flush on his nose and wide eyes made it seem like he could start crying again if you weren't careful. "She's..." You stopped yourself, "I'm still working to find out what happened — it's unclear what her status is." You tried laying a comforting hand on his forearm when Wallace averted his eyes.

That was a mistake.

The world spun — Lily's skinless body was replaced in your vision by the ceiling. The breath left your lungs as your back hit the ground. You choked out a gasp, but before you could take another breath, Wallace's hands were around your throat, squeezing tightly. Black spots blossomed in your vision as you writhed, kicking your feet, clawing at the joints of his plastic fingers as his skin fizzled out all the way up to his shoulders.

_You couldn't breathe._

And then his eyes turned black — black, dark, and bottomless like Lily's, like the PL600s from the evidence room. Those eyes bored into you as his synthetic skin continued to vanish up his chest, his neck, his face _._

"Let her go!" You could barely make out Hank's voice, the click of his revolver.

Wallace didn't even seem to register Hank's words. He just kept staring into you, unseeing, unfeeling, a completely different android than the one that had been sobbing over his lover's body only minutes ago. The last of your strength left you, and your weak fingers slipped from his hands, falling uselessly to your sides.

_Bang!_

The pressure on your windpipe vanished as wet blue splattered your face. Wallace's body thudded onto yours, heavily, as you coughed. You struggled to breathe, fire racing down your throat with each attempt, leaving you choking and needing more air. Wallace's face was so close to you. Tear tracks still led down his cheeks, from black eyes that gazed straight ahead, seeing nothing, and the bullet hole in his head leaked thirium onto your skin and clothes.

"Jesus Christ, Connor! We needed to talk to him!"

Wallace's weight left your body as someone pushed him aside. Everything was so painful — your throat, your back, your chest — they all burned as you tried, and failed, to take a single deep breath. Connor's face appeared among the staticky black that still blossomed across your vision. Blinking, you struggled to clear it, but each time your chest heaved to get some air, you coughed it back out, and the spots returned, blocking him out, making him dissolve.

_Help..._ You tried to speak, but only let out a pained wheeze which just made your vision grow darker...

_Darker_ , until you could barely see Connor as he hovered over you, covered in thirium from where he'd touched you.  _Darker_ , until all you could see was his LED spinning yellow, then red, then he dissolved entirely into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Do you want me to stop analyzing you  
> MC: I'm not gonna ask you to change who you are  
> Connor *ANALYZING INTENSIFIES*


	5. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to keep helping — I want to know what happened to them," You admitted softly.
> 
> The tension left Connor's shoulders, and his LED settled to a calm blue. "You've made more progress on this case than I have. I didn't want to say as much unless you decided to continue, but I believe you may be critical to solving this."
> 
> You let his words sink in. It was a nice thought, being the one who could figure out this mess, but you couldn't decide if it was true, or just what you wanted to hear. You had to stop yourself — this train of thought would only lead down a dark hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to blame this chapter's delay on the word count... but really I needed a couple days away. Hopefully, the length makes up for the wait.
> 
> As always, thank you for all your kudos and comments!

_Everything was dark — Not the kind of dark that your eyes adjusted to with time, but endless sheets of black that destroyed any hope of orienting yourself with your surroundings. This was the kind that made you wonder if your eyes were even open. You couldn't move. A heaviness pressed into your body, trapping you. When you tried to use your lips to cry for help, no sound came out._

_You couldn't see. You couldn't move. You couldn't speak._

_But you could feel. Fire burned in your lungs from lack of air. When you tried to take a breath, something crushed your throat. Your instinct was to claw at it, alleviate the pressure, but your body wouldn't — no, couldn't move._

_What was happening?_

_You begged your eyes to work, to see something. You needed to know what was happening, where you were, because there was nothing other than the pain of suffocating._

_Where was Connor?_

_That was weird. Why did you think of him? Suddenly, the pressure vanished at the same time a gunshot sounded. You could see again, but immediately wished you couldn't._

_Connor stood over you with a gun outstretched in one hand, pointed in your direction. His face was an expressionless mask as he knelt next to you in the puddle of quickly-spreading thirium, regarding you indifferently. It was the scariest you'd ever seen him look — like you were back in the interrogation room being accused of murder. Your blue-stained fingers lifted from your sides, reaching for him._

_He vanished, leaving you alone._

_And then the darkness returned_.

 

"What was I supposed to do, Hank? She couldn't breathe!"

"The hell if I know, but Jesus, Connor, you didn't have to execute the guy! I haven't seen you look that cold that since you deviated."

"I do not feel any temperature-related discomfort."

"Not the—" Hank groaned, "You know what, never mind. We'll just get her neck checked out, and then let her get back to whatever it is she does behind CyberLife's back."

"Hank, you didn't see what I did. She got _something_ from that AX400. The computer malfunctioned before she could tell me what it was, but she's already had more success than I did with the first three androids."

A non-commital grunt came from the front seat. The car rocked slightly as it slowed and then sped up again. Something warm pressed against your cheek — Scratchy fabric, maybe denim?

"Okay, so maybe she can get more off those androids than you," Hank finally spoke up again, "But she's not a cop. She didn't sign up for this."

"I understand Hank, but I have the feeling she'll wish to continue."

"A 'feeling,' huh?" Amusement crept into his voice.

Connor hesitated, "That is to say... based on previous evidence and understanding of her character—"

"Connor, stop," Hank cut him off, "None of that analysis crap... especially not after I just watched you shoot a guy straight through the head."

"My apologies."

"Don't—" Another sigh sounded from the front seat, "Why don't you play with your quarter or something?"

"My hands are otherwise occupied at the moment."

Hank didn't respond to that, and the car fell back into silence except for the soft rumbling of its engine. You slowly grew aware of laying in the backseat, cheek against the denim and your hands curled by your chest. Experimentally, you twitched your fingers. They moved. You tried wiggling your toes next. They moved as well.

Although there was a soothing cold against your neck, your throat still ached like hell. So did your head. Wincing, you snaked your fingers up to feel it but stopped when they met hard plastic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The back of Hank's car was sideways — or rather, you were sideways, with your head elevated in Connor's lap and his bare hand resting gently on your neck, radiating cold.

"You're awake." Connor's voice came from above you, but as you turned your head to look up at him, pain shot through your throat, making you wince.

"Ah, _fuck,_ " You hissed, neck throbbing.

"Try not to move," Connor instructed. "I estimate that we'll arrive at the hospital in six minutes."

Your eyes widened as you realized all the fuss that would entail. "Hospital? No, no — I don't need to go to the hospital." A doctor would probably charge an arm and a leg just to see you. You still remembered the bill from your last trip, and that was only for a nasty cold before your deductible with CyberLife's insurance kicked in. Now, you didn't even have that.

"This news may be distressing, but you were strangled and lost consciousness. You need to see a doctor."

"I know what happened, Connor," You groaned weakly as your fingers brushed your bruising throat, "But I don't want to go to the hospital. Please, just take me home or something."

"Got something against hospitals?" Hank spoke up, sounding (if possible) gruffer than usual.

Flushed with embarrassment, you realized how stupid it might sound to voice your reservations out loud. Then again, these two were too perceptive for their own good — telling the truth was going to be the quickest way out of paying for something you couldn't afford and probably didn't need.

"I'm not on CyberLife's health care plan anymore... I'm just bruised, right?" You couldn't keep the hopeful tone out of your voice, which caused Hank to snort something that sounded like " _tough cookie._ "

Connor however, looked alarmed, LED spinning yellow. "You passed out from lack of oxygen."

"Are you sure you're going to be alright, kid?" Hank asked before you could reply.

You looked up. "Connor?"

"Yes?"

"It hurts, but I can move everything, and I can talk. Nothing past the skin is damaged, right?"

Connor paused, and you were unable to suppress a shiver as his chilled plastic fingertips traced from your jaw down the side of your neck, to the collar of your sweater. With his lips pressed in a firm line, he nodded.

"Okay, home it is," Hank said. "Connor, you mind giving me directions? I can't remember how we got there before."

With a sigh of relief, you relaxed into the car seat again. Your throat still ached when you swallowed, but with Connor's cooled fingers against your skin, the pain faded into the background, and you were soothed back to sleep.

Well, almost to sleep.

Once your eyes drifted shut and you began to nod off, Wallace was there again — hands around your throat, staring at you out of the darkness as his eyes changed from his tear-filled brown to the soulless, black machine pair.

Your eyes snapped open. _Okay, no sleep then,_ you thought, heart hammering in your chest. Connor glanced down at you in his lap with his brow furrowed and LED spinning. Within a few moments you'd calmed yourself again, and he returned his attention to giving Hank directions.

It wasn't long before the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment. The engine switched off as Hank pulled his keys out of the ignition.

"It's alright, Hank." Connor reached out a hand to prevent him from unbuckling his seatbelt. "I can take her inside."

Hank turned around in the front seat, annoyance written across his face. "Okay, fine, but I'm not going to just hang out in the car."

"Before we entered the crime scene you made a promise involving a healthy lunch."

"Fuck," Hank groaned, "I forgot... of course you'd remember."

"I'll take her inside — I trust you can look up directions yourself on the way back."

Connor pushed the front passenger seat forward and shifted your head off his lap, helping you sit up, before opening the passenger door. There was a faint ringing in your ears as your head and neck protested at the movement, but you could swear you heard Hank whisper something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like  _"Fuckin' androids."_ Before you could ask him to repeat that, Connor had reached back inside and helped you out of the car.

"I'm alright." You gave a weak attempt at a smile. "I can walk by myself."

Despite your protests, Connor's hand didn't move from your waist even as you took a step forward. With an exasperated sigh, you continued up to your apartment. You were walking a bit slower than usual, frowning at the pain in your neck and your raging headache, but Connor didn't seem to be in any hurry — he matched your pace perfectly all the way to your door.

You fumbled in your bag for your keycard, but by the time you found it, Connor's hand was skinless and glowing a faint blue as he pressed it against the card reader. With a soft click, the door swung open.

Hopefully, no android decided to rob you in the future because that seemed way too easy.

The inside of your apartment was just as you'd left it this morning — mostly tidy, with only a few wires and tools laid out on your desk, surrounding the spot your computer usually was. Your heart dropped when you remembered it was broken. Connor guided you past your workstation, to the small couch. His hand didn't leave your side until you plopped down onto the cushions a little too hard, making you wince as your neck gave a nasty twinge. You moved to get up again, but Connor grabbed your shoulders and guided you back down.

"Let me up." You tried to not sound too annoyed, but your neck and head were throbbing so badly you couldn't manage any expression other than a grimace. "I need to get some medicine."

"Where is it?"

"I can—"

A finger rested on your lips, cutting you off. Connor's warm brown eyes were only inches from yours. "—Rest here. Where is the pain medicine?"

"The bathroom," You whispered, attempting to ignore the loss of warmth as his finger left your lips, "In the cabinet behind the mirror."

He turned on his heel and moments later you heard the cabinet open and shut. With a sigh, you pressed your hands into your forehead, letting the coolness of your fingers soothe your headache. They weren't as cold as Connor's fingers and would no doubt be too warm for comfort in a moment, but you tried not to think about that. Androids should _not_ be used to soothe your injuries. At least, not when you had perfectly good ice in the freezer.

"Hey, Connor?" You called, immediately regretting it once your throat seized with pain. "Can you get me some ice from the freezer?" You spoke quieter this time.

"Got it." Connor's voice came from the kitchenette, moments before appearing in front of you again with a bottle of anti-inflammatories, a water bottle, and a cup with some ice. You nodded in gratitude, not willing to try speaking again until the pain medicine kicked in. Connor watched you patiently as you knocked back two pills and followed them with some water — which caused you to hiss, swallowing still hurt. You put the two on the table, took an ice cube from the cup, and wrapped it in a napkin.

"I could cool your throat as I did in the car," Connor offered when you shivered against the makeshift ice pack. The couch cushions dipped as he sat next to you.

"That's—" Your throat seized, and you swallowed, which _definitely_ did not help, "That's alright. I wouldn't feel right asking you to do that after everything you've done for me so far."

Connor tilted his head to the left, eyes darting from your face to the hand holding the ice against your neck. His brow wrinkled when he stared back at you. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"I didn't see much before..." Your voice trailed off as you struggled with your phrasing, "I heard you and Hank in the car. You stopped Wallace. You saved me."

Connor only blinked.

"I don't — I mean... Thank you."

He nodded, LED spinning yellow, "It was... regrettable, what happened to Wallace, but I needed to stop him before he hurt you further." You swore you saw a flash of red before Connor turned his face from you, blocking the LED from your view. "I'm sorry you had to go through that while assisting us with our investigation."

_Right, the investigation,_ you reminded yourself with a sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions, _I thought I had something, but..._

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

You cracked one eye open and saw Connor staring back at you again. "You don't have to ask if you can ask me a question. If it's too personal, I'll tell you or not answer it."

"Got it." The corner of Connor's lips jerked up for a moment before his face fell back into his serious mask. "Do you intend to continue to offer your assistance with the investigation of these androids after today?"

Hank's words from the car floated back to you, _"she's not a cop. She didn't sign up for this."_ It was true. Yesterday you wouldn't have believed you'd be helping with a police investigation, or that you'd be hurt by an android involved in that police investigation, or — most shockingly — that you weren't ready to give up even after this. Connor watched you chew your bottom lip as you wrestled with your thoughts.

"It was weird I couldn't find anything on that PL600, but the data I saw on the AX400, Lily, before my computer crashed... I don't know how to make sense of it." There was still something gnawing at you, but you hadn't said it out loud yet. "And then there was what happened with the HR400, Wallace. I want to keep helping — I want to know what happened to them," You admitted softly.

The tension left Connor's shoulders, and his LED slowly circled a calm blue. "You've made more progress on this case than I have. I didn't want to say as much unless you decided to continue, but I believe you may be critical to solving this."

You let his words sink in. It was a nice thought, being the one who could figure out this mess, but you couldn't decide if it was true, or just what you wanted to hear. You had to stop yourself — this train of thought would only lead down a dark hole.

"Connor?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you a personal question now?"

Connor blinked in surprise. "I'm not sure what you would want to ask, but I will answer any questions you have to the best of my ability."

"Why do you still wear your CyberLife uniform and LED?" The mentioned LED spun an angry yellow, red, yellow, and you hurried to fix your mistake. "Sorry, I mean — you don't have to answer if you don't want to — that was insensitive of me, wasn't it?"

"No, I—" Connor hesitated, "I haven't given it much thought. Most deviants removed their LEDs to disguise themselves as humans while they were on the run, but I deviated late and therefore didn't need to. As for the uniform... I didn't require a change of clothes."

A smile tugged on the corners of your mouth. It was such an honest answer. "I see," You murmured, "Thanks for telling me."

Connor only looked more confused, but you didn't offer further explanation. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again.

"Back at the scene, you stated that your attempt to pull data from the AX400 'kind of worked,' and just a moment ago you mentioned that data again — What did you see?"

It had all happened so fast, You struggled to remember exactly what you saw in the text that was only on your screen for a second. You bit your lip and started hesitantly, "When I tried to reset her from a previous memory upload, the first lines of system checks were normal, but after that, the text became unrecognizable — it was all gibberish, and then my computer just shut down and wouldn't respond."

"So you were able to initiate a reset from a previous memory upload and read the data before that was corrupted as well." Connor folded his hands together as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "That corrupted data could have told us something. It's a shame it overloaded your computer."

"That computer can handle  _dozens_ of resets — It didn't _overload._ " You struggled to keep the frustration out of your voice. This was exactly what bothered you: there was no reason that a computer made to handle android software uploads and maintenance would be overwhelmed or crash from a reset. "It initialized the reset just fine. The crash happened after I pulled data from Lily. It shut down after she did like whatever was in her system infected my computer and—"

_Oh._ Your eyes widened and your words died in your throat as you realized what you'd just said: " _i_ _nfected my computer."_ With a groan, you buried your face in your hands and pressed your fingers against your forehead. _Oh my god, you're an idiot,_ You thought, gritting your teeth. All three androids in that first room shut down. Then Lily shut down, and after Wallace interfaced with her, he lost his skin and his eyes changed. If Connor hadn't shot him, he probably would have shut down the same way as the others.

"Are you alright?"

You sighed before biting your lip. Connor waited, staring at you expectantly.

"It's a virus."

"Oh..." Connor's LED spun yellow before he averted his gaze. The skin on his right hand retracted up to his wrist, exposing the plastic plating beneath. "I tried interfacing with the three androids at the first scene." Connor's eyes unfocused, and you saw them flicker — you guessed he was running a diagnostic. When he finished, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "There's nothing in my code that suggests I have a virus."

_Thank God,_ you breathed a sigh of relief, sagging into the couch. You struggled to push away the image of Connor crumpled on the ground without his skin, staring at you with bottomless black eyes. You shook your head (bad idea, your neck screamed in protest) trying to make the image go away. _He'll be fine. You just have to figure out what this is,_ you told yourself in an attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked softly, resting a hand over yours.

You hadn't even realized you'd clenched your eyes shut. You opened them, and nodded slowly, letting loose a deep breath. "Connor, you have to promise me you'll be extra careful from now on. No interfacing with androids, alive or dead." You fought to keep your tone even.

"Got it. I need to warn Markus—" He closed his eyes and his LED blinked yellow.

_"Stop!"_ You cried, and grabbed Connor by his shoulders, shaking him out of his connection.

His eyes flew open and he stared at you — your face, your hands where they clenched his shoulders, and your chest, where your heart was threatening to beat out of your ribs. "Why would you stop me? Markus needs to know."

"You'll have to tell him in person," You explained, "A connection is too dangerous right now, we don't know whether the virus can be spread like that."

Connor blinked. "You're right. I should have realized."

"I understand. You were worried." You said, uncurling your fingers from his shoulders. "But you need to be careful, okay?"

"Oh," Connor's voice was barely above a whisper, " _Y_ _ou're_ worried."

Your retort, _"Well, yeah, of course,"_ was on the tip of your tongue when you realized he was staring at you. Your gaze met his and the words died in your mouth. Connor's expression wasn't something you'd seen before — a mixture of realization, fascination, and _awe —_ and it was directed at _you._ Your heart stuttered, and you knew Connor noticed when his lips quirked up into a lopsided smile.

A smile you couldn’t help but mirror — Connor was contagious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: *Smiles*  
> MC: Fuck me up fam send me straight to heaven this is it this is how I die.


	6. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then you knew.
> 
> No no no. You were too old to be acting like this, but your cheeks burned all the same. You've only known him for a day! Something inside you screamed futilely. You clenched your eyes shut and grit your teeth as if to shut out the inevitable. What was that line, "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil"?
> 
> If only it was that easy to block out your thoughts. The part of your brain that strove to be rational spoke up, you're just attracted to his appearance and of course you are because androids are made to be perfect and attractive, duh. That must be it, you decided to ignore everything else in your mind. It had been too long since your last relationship and Cyberlife's latest creation was just a little too life-like and handsome. That's all this was.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm continuing the trend of longer chapters — It just didn't feel right to split this one up. I was excited to include Markus in this chapter, and RK800Downloading was kind enough to let me bounce some ideas off her (You can thank her for the awkward hug).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for all of your kudos and comments, they mean a lot to me!

The salad Hank bought for you wasn't the worst thing you'd ever tasted, but it was far from the best. One bite made you regret spitting out the Chicken Feed burger. Protein-filled comfort food sounded like heaven after all the crap you'd been through. But this was your _second_ free meal, and no matter how disappointing the caesar salad was, you'd choke on your own shame if you asked the police lieutenant for something else.

"Thank you, Hank," You said again, twisting the plastic fork into your salad.

Hank scoffed, "I heard you the first time, but you're welcome. Now don't mention it again — talking means you're not eating."

You couldn't help but smile at that as you nodded and took another forkful. Without meaning to, your gaze wandered back to Connor, who at Hank's insistence was sitting in the front again (but not before you also told him to sit in the front — it had been cramped enough in the back seat last time). He stared out the window at something on the horizon, turned away from everyone else in the car with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The way his head was turned made it impossible to see his LED, but his expression reflected in the window stopped you from addressing him.

_You probably shouldn't bother him right now._ The thought made your stomach churn for some reason, and you lowered your fork. You wished for a distraction, but Connor hadn't gotten his coin back from Hank as far as you knew, so you'd have to distract yourself.

After a second of rummaging in your bag, you pulled out your phone and almost groaned at the number of alerts. They ranged from app updates to social media, and some messages. You checked the messages first. Some of those were spam of course, which you flicked away immediately. One was a job application rejection, _"Thank you for your application, but we regret to inform you that..."_ You didn't read any further before deleting that too. The last few were android maintenance requests. You opened the first one before remembering that without your computer, you probably couldn't help them.

You groaned.

"What?" Hank was glaring at you through the rearview mirror with an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing, sorry."

The lie was feeble, even for you, but Hank shrugged and dropped it. Connor had promised to replace your computer, and you didn't feel like bringing that up again — after the two free meals you already felt like enough of a freeloader. Irritated, you rubbed your temples. This entire day was already overloading you and the sun was still high in the sky — from being stumped by the shut down androids' memories, to watching Wallace cry over the body of his lover, to losing your computer, your way to make a meager living, to being choked (your neck gave a painful twinge at the reminder), to spending so much time observing Connor, and now realizing there was an _android virus_ being transmitted, wreaking havoc — _yeah, you were overwhelmed_.

You tried to tell yourself tomorrow would be better, but even if you went to sleep right now in the back of Hank's old car, tomorrow you'd still have no job, no way to help androids, and there would probably still be an android-killing virus out there _infecting them_ because you couldn't figure it out. Your gaze drifted back to Connor. Connor, who was still staring out the window as if he could see something no one else could —  _What was he thinking?_ You wanted to ask, but the longer you watched him, the further away he seemed.

_It's not any of your business anyway,_ You thought, tearing yourself from his reflection. Staring wasn't getting you anywhere, and it _certainly_ wasn't going to help you take your mind off him. You thought about distracting yourself with your phone again, but the jostling of the car coupled with your stress had caused your headache to return full force. You rubbed your forehead with the tips of your fingers, wishing the hours could pass so you could reach into your pocket and pop some more pain medicine.

Instead, you sighed and relaxed into the back seat, letting your eyes drift closed. However, your thoughts didn't leave you alone just because you couldn't see Connor anymore. Behind your closed eyes, you could see him pacing around the interrogation room, circling you like a shark. You could see him straightening his tie and jacket and _smirking_ at you once he convinced you not to eat the Chicken Feed burger. You could see him taking a step back and hesitating by your side when he didn't know how to address Wallace in his grief. You could see him looming over you, right arm outstretched, gun aimed at the other android's head. You could see the way Connor's brown eyes stared into yours, as his expression shifted like he realized something when he accused you of worrying about him.

_He must not be used to people worrying about him,_ you reasoned. But then again, why _were_ you so worried about him? It seemed obvious before — you didn't want him to catch that android-killing virus — but something about the way Connor had reacted, the way he'd looked at you, something about that didn't sit right.

You fluttered your eyes open and saw Connor's reflection again. He'd pressed his LED into the headrest as he stared out the window, jaw clenched. Your gaze trailed from the lock of brown hair that had escaped and fell across his forehead, to his cheekbones, but you struggled to understand his expression. _What was he thinking?_ You wondered yet again and bit your tongue to stop yourself from asking as a pressure built in your chest.

And then you knew.

_No no no._ You were too old to be acting like this, but your cheeks burned all the same. _You've only known him for a day!_ Something inside you screamed futilely. You clenched your eyes shut and grit your teeth as if to shut out the inevitable. What was that line... "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil"?

If only it was that easy to block out your thoughts. The part of your brain that strove to be rational spoke up, _you're just attracted to his appearance because androids are made to be perfect and attractive, duh. That must be it_ , you decided, trying to ignore everything else in your mind. It had been a little lonely since your last relationship and CyberLife's latest creation was just a little too life-like and handsome. That's all this was.

Right?

_Fuck_ , you groaned internally and rubbed your temples again as your headache intensified. _Work now, think about this later._ As if agreeing with you, the car rolled to a stop.

"You sure this is the right place, Connor?"

When you opened your eyes, you immediately realized why Hank sounded confused. The car was parked outside one of the nicest houses you'd ever seen. The driveway looped around, leaving generous room for Hank's old car, and perfectly trimmed hedges framed the house for privacy and decoration. Your brain attempted to calculate the current market value of the house (mansion?) but you stopped yourself with an internal scolding. Now was _not_ the time to be tacky.

"This is the address Markus gave me, yes," Connor affirmed, looking up at the house as he opened the door and stepped out, "I believe it belongs to his father."

Hank froze halfway out the door. "His _what?!"_

"His father, Carl Manfred."

Something about that made you smile. _A human and android adopting each other as family?_ Your grin remained as you climbed out of the car as well, slamming the door behind you to join the other two. Connor rang the bell, and you tried to look anywhere but at him and the way the sunlight streaking through the trees danced across his profile.

The door swung open, and confusion flickered across the android's—Markus's—face before he finally spoke, "Connor, what a surprise... and you brought guests." His heterochromatic eyes flicked to you and Hank. "Please, come in."

Meeting Markus in person took your breath away. All the mental preparation you'd gone through back at your apartment and in Hank's car evaporated as soon as he'd opened that door — not that you believed yourself _prepared_ to meet the leader of the android rebellion in any sense of the word. _How did someone prepare for something like that?_ You'd just tried to settle your nerves and reviewed what you knew about him.

RK200, gifted to famous painter Carl Manfred by Elijah Kamski. You weren't sure what event led to his deviancy, but it obviously wasn't abuse of his previous owner if he now referred to Carl as his father. After a bit of thought, you decided it was best left a mystery — asking Markus what led to his deviancy during your first meeting was _definitely_ rude. You'd watched and read the news about the broadcast from the Stratford tower, the freeing of androids from the CyberLife stores, the march in the streets, and the demonstration outside the android destruction camps.

And the leader of that very movement was leading you into his cushy living room. You were _not_ prepared.

"Please, take a seat," Markus said, gesturing at the sofa, "May I interest you in anything to drink?"

Hank eyed the scotch, but sighed gruffly, "No thanks."

When Markus looked to you for your answer, all you could manage was a slow shake of your head before you slowly sat down.

"You must be Lieutenant Anderson," Markus's attention returned to Hank, and he took his hand in a handshake, "I've heard about you from Connor."

Hank shot a look at the android in question and he raised an eyebrow at him, but Connor was preoccupied with observing the giraffe statue that raised all the way to the second floor. "Hopefully good things," Hank finally replied with a scoff.

Markus smiled at that, before turning his scrutinizing gaze to you. "I don't believe we've met before."

"She's the reason we're here," Connor said before you could reply.

After a moment of silence, Markus spoke up again, "I take it this isn't a social call."

"I'm afraid not." Connor finally stopped observing the room. "The DPD is currently investigating androids that shut down under strange circumstances — No synthetic skin, exposed optical sensors, and reporting strange, even violent behavior before their death. Our evidence and her analysis lead us to believe a virus caused this."

"A virus that infects androids?"

"Yes."

"How is it spread?"

Connor hesitated, and his brown eyes fell on you for the first time since entering the Manfred residence. You willed your heart to be quiet, unsure if your nerves were acting up because of Connor or the idea of speaking with Markus.

"We're not sure yet," You spoke up, "Attempting to access an infected android's memory before it's completely corrupted can cause infection," _This seemed a sure way to catch the virus based on what happened to your computer,_ "And definitely probing an infected android," _Like Wallace did,_ "But I'm not sure on time frames or if there are other ways to pass along the virus. Any type of connection is possible."

"Is there a way to stop it?" Markus asked softly.

"Not that I know of — not yet."

Markus sighed and paced to the window. He stood there, frozen, with his arms crossed as he stared out at something only he could see. With a huff of breath he spoke, "They're trying to exterminate us again."

You didn't have to ask what he meant by 'they', and neither did Hank apparently. He scoffed, "Yeah, us humans can be real assholes sometimes."

"I'll warn the others," Markus said, resigned, "Tell them to keep an eye out for what you've described, but I don't want to cause a panic, not when so many are just learning to be free."

"I'm sorry, Markus."

The words just slipped out, but he whirled around to stare at you searchingly, so intensely you struggled not to flinch under his inquisitive green and blue eyes. You looked to Connor for help just as his LED shifted to yellow, but he flinched and it fell back to blue, before his eyes blinked and it shifted yellow again.

"Markus, not right now," Connor said, eyebrows wrinkling as his LED switched to the calm blue again.

"Why?"

"I tried probing some of those androids, and you shouldn't be opening up connections until we find out how to stop the virus."

_Oh,_ you thought, resisting the urge to sink into the couch and make yourself smaller, _I guess that's our cue to leave._ You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Hank, maybe we should go wait in the car?"

Hank rolled his eyes, but when he saw the undoubtedly embarrassed expression on your face, he just shrugged and got to his feet.

"It was nice to meet you, Markus," You said and managed to smile at him before following Hank out of the living room.

As soon as Hank started up his car, and by extension the heating, he rounded on you, "Mind telling me what the hell that was back there?"

"Markus tried to open a connection with Connor — to speak to him in private," You explained, "But I warned Connor earlier not to open himself up to any links with androids... just in case."

Hank scoffed, "So he had something he wanted to say and didn't want the humans hearing it. Great."

"I can't really blame him."

The words fell out in a mumble, but it didn't escape Hank's notice. He raised an eyebrow at you from the front seat before he chuckled, "Yeah, humans are shitty. I guess you saw some of that at CyberLife, huh?"

"You have no idea."

_Maybe Markus knew, maybe that's why he wanted to talk to Connor alone,_ You shook yourself out of that train of thought, _No, not all androids can just do background checks on humans._ Yet, you couldn't help but remember how Markus had stared at you after you apologized, and _then_ tried to initiate the link with Connor. You rubbed your temples again. Fuck, they were probably talking about you.

"I thought your neck was hurt, why do you keep rubbing your head?"

Of course, Hank noticed.

"Sorry, I've got a bit of a headache too."

"Yeah, this android bullshit is giving me a headache too, kid."

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

"Don't look at me like that," He huffed and shoved his hands closer to the heating vents, "You know what I mean. I'm not used to cases like this or people talking to each other inside their heads. Hell, I probably wouldn't have known those androids died because of a virus."

"Well, it does seem pretty sophisticated..."

"Are you gonna be able to figure this out?"

You hesitated and bit your lip. You wanted to say yes, to express some sense of confidence that you knew what you were doing, but you barely knew how this virus worked, let alone how to stop it from spreading and killing more androids. Your fingers fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater absentmindedly as your mind replayed all the information you'd learned so far.

"I didn't mean to pressure you or anything," Hank spoke up again when you didn't reply, "But you've made the most progress on this so far, and offering to help after that little scare back at the apartment makes me think you've got some faith in your abilities."

He was right — you _wanted_ to keep figuring this out, to help where Hank, and now Connor, couldn't. "I can't just go back to my life knowing something like this is out there," You admitted.

Hank nodded. "I think Connor knew you'd say something like that."

You were struggling with how to reply to that when the front door to the Manfred house swung open, and Connor stepped out followed by Markus. They were still talking, but with the windows rolled up, you couldn't hear them. Connor took one step toward the car before Markus grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. From your seat, you saw Connor’s entire body freeze and lock up with his arms halfway between his sides and resting on the other android’s back. You winced sympathetically as Connor slowly patted Markus’s shoulder blades in what had to be the most awkward sign of affection you’d ever seen.

Before you could ask Hank why Connor was so uncomfortable around Markus, he’d broken out of the hug and walked back to the car. _It’s none of your business anyway,_ you scolded yourself, biting your tongue.

“My apologies for the wait,” Connor said once he was in the car.

Hank snorted, “Yeah, she already filled me in on what was going on —wouldn’t want to deny you two the chance to talk about the humans behind our back.”

“Hank, that’s not what—” Connor fell silent as his LED blinked yellow. Once it settled to a calm blue, he turned back to Hank. “The DPD just sent me an address for our next crime scene. I can provide you with directions.”

“More androids?”

“Yes, but this time there’s a human as well.”

Hank’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel at that, but he didn't say anything more, only sighed and reversed out of the Manfreds’ driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC: I don't have feelings for Connor  
> Hank: "I dOn'T hAvE fEeLiNgS fOr CoNnOr"
> 
> *Markus Hugs Connor goodbye*  
> Hank: Good God someone put these two out of my misery.


	7. Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //DIAGNOSE...
> 
> //Sync In Progress...  
> //Processing Data...
> 
> //THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR  
> //All Systems OK  
> //Biocomponent OK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter's delay — I've been given some new tasks at work and have been too busy this last week. I'm getting caught up and will continue to update as frequently as I can.
> 
> This chapter is from Connor's P.O.V. The change fits with what I wanted to do this chapter, and I enjoy writing androids.
> 
> Thank you as always to anyone who leaves a kudos or comment.

Sometimes Connor disliked experiencing emotions. They made deviants dangerous. All that fear and sadness and the overwhelming sense of  _'this isn't fair'_ led humans and androids alike to make questionable decisions.

And that's what Connor struggled with the most.

Not actually making the decisions — his analysis and probability software always provided him with enough assistance to narrow down his choices and pick which one he preferred, but dealing with the aftermath, the doubt that made him question his judgment, bothered him. Of course, hearing he'd made the right decision helped with this problem. Connor felt a similar sense of satisfaction when he completed a directive (set by himself now), but it didn't compare to hearing he'd done well from someone else.

During testing and the first couple run-ins with deviants, Amanda had provided that for him. Connor struggled through preconstructions of the various ways he could have handled the hostage situation back in August. Maybe there had been a way to save the little girl _and_ avoid the look of betrayal from Daniel, but when Amanda praised him for completing the mission, all that doubt vanished. As he deviated further and made choices that didn't complete his mission, Amanda's praise morphed to disappointment, but Hank's approval helped him know he'd made the right choice.

Unfortunately, Hank was not being helpful right now.

"Jesus, Connor, did you really have to do that?"

"She couldn't be of any more help to us," Connor said, brow wrinkling in distaste. "Would you have preferred that we didn't drop her off?"

Hank sighed, but kept his eyes trained on the road, "That's not what I fuckin' meant. You just—you couldn't have been a bit nicer about it?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

A beat of silence passed. "Don't you have some social-relations program or some shit to help you integrate with humans? You didn't see how upset she was?"

"I assumed her reaction was justified. She was attacked by an android and lost an important possession."

"Ugh, fine, fuck if I know," Hank grumbled and let the subject drop. His fingers twitched around the volume control on his stereo, making the music drown out any indication that Connor should continue the conversation.

That was fine. Connor had information to process, anyway. Hank disapproved of something he did — that much was clear — but Hank seemed to be basing his judgment entirely on _her_ expression, and not on Connor's actions. In fact, he'd even agreed that Connor made the right choice to drive her back to her apartment before they headed to the crime scene. She didn't have her computer anymore, and therefore wouldn't be able to connect with the androids or learn anything more about the virus they were investigating.

Surely she understood that.

Connor had even explained it to her as he opened the door so that she could climb out of the back seat, so why did she look upset? Until Hank spoke up, Connor assumed that the reminder of her now-useless computer was causing her unhappiness, but Hank was acting like it was _Connor's_ fault.

He replayed the latest memory, studying her micro-expressions and mannerisms, trying to calculate exactly what caused her distress. An uncomfortable twisting settled against Connor's biocomponents when her eyes widened, and stress levels rose in reaction to what he said in the reconstructed memory. He ran a diagnostic.

**//DIAGNOSE...**

 

**//Sync In Progress...**

**//Processing Data...**

 

**//THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR**

**//All Systems OK**

**//Biocomponent OK**

Connor tried to direct his processors back to the task at hand — preparing and reviewing all information regarding the crime scene Hank was driving towards, but a growing percentage remained occupied with replaying his interactions with her.

When he introduced himself, she'd already known who he was, _likely due to her experience at CyberLife,_ Connor noted. She exhibited conflicting desires of wanting to aid in their investigation, yet not willing to turn over her android logs, _due to her illegal use of CyberLife blueprints and software._ Connor paused his processing, reviewing the conversation they'd had in the evidence room. Even after he'd pulled everything off her computer, informed her that he'd found the CyberLife blueprints, she'd said her opinions on privacy didn't change... _She supports android rights,_ Connor concluded, adding to the report.

Connor continued through his memories of the crime scene with the AX400 and HR400, making small notes, reviewing his analyses, right up to the point the HR400 attacked. His brow twitched as the reconstruction of himself chose to shoot Wallace. All attempts to reconstruct the scene with decisions that spared Wallace resulted in... her death.

**//DIAGNOSE...**

 

**//Sync In Progress...**

**//Processing Data...**

 

**//THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR**

**//All Systems OK**

**//Biocomponent OK**

Connor attached the diagnostic results to the corresponding memory, slightly relieved when he remembered his analytics and diagnostics wouldn't be sent straight to CyberLife anymore. Most of his processors were now focused on the memory reconstruction, the case review forgotten, as Connor cycled through his memories to the couch in her apartment. He'd run his first diagnostic after she stopped him from calling Markus — when she exhibited signs of worry. Connor retrieved _that_ diagnostic result and attached it to his growing report. He reached his memories of the car ride to Markus' house and paused his review again. Her phone number was logged into his memory core from when he scanned her phone.

Connor consolidated all the smaller files in his report, moving them into a combined record under her name, before retrieving her phone number.

_"Hello, I apologize for any inconvenience the Lieutenant and I have caused you with the decision to return you to your apartment. Please be advised that I still intend to provide you with a replacement computer. Thank you for your assistance in this investigation."_

Just as Connor was about to send the message, he added another line:

_"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."_

Once the message sent, Connor added "Order suitable replacement computer" to his list of non-urgent tasks. Now he could worry about it later and focus on the crime scene.

 

"Well, if it isn't the Lieutenant and his plastic pet."

Hank groaned, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels, "Who the fuck invited you, Reed?"

"The dead girl, that's who," Gavin sneered, "Fucking android went psycho-bot on her."

"Bullshit."

Connor wanted to correct the detective and back up Hank, but when his gaze flicked to the bloody corpse Gavin was leaning over, the crimson-stained knife laying next to her, and the skinless android covered in arcs of human blood, he stopped himself. This required further investigation.

Hank raised an eyebrow at him when he didn't speak up.

"Yeah, okay, I'm done here, anyway." Gavin brushed some imaginary dirt off his hands, then shouldered past them, his partner trailing a few steps behind.

Hank nudged Connor as soon as Gavin was out of the room. "Take a look around. Let me know if you find anything."

Connor only nodded before kneeling beside the shutdown android, a WR400, or Traci, model _._ The white and greyish-blue plastic plating was flecked with congealing red blood, and her optical units were staring blankly into the ceiling of the old house.

Resisting the urge to probe the android, Connor's eyes followed the splatters on the WR400's exposed face to the arcs and puddles of blood between the two bodies — it was only red, only human blood. After a quick glance to check if Hank was looking, Connor dipped two fingers into the largest puddle and brought the sample to his tongue. _Hannah Chang, age: 28._

An analysis of the human victim's face confirmed that all the blood across the floorboards, the knife, and the android belonged to her, to Hannah, and was only a couple hours old. _Someone must have called the murder in — this happened too recently for anyone who knew her to be concerned she was missing._ He pulled up the case information and reviewed the statement. _First responders arrived after the victim's neighbor called to report what sounded like screaming._

"Did anyone get a more detailed statement from the neighbor?" Connor asked, glancing at Hank over his shoulder.

Hank shrugged. "Neighbor's the one who reported the noise, right? I think that's him over there with Chris." He pointed at a young man wearing a beanie, talking to Officer Miller at the edge of the holographic police tape.

Connor only nodded. Chris could be trusted to take a reasonable statement. _One of the victims made a significant amount of noise,_ He noted, _Probably the human victim, as previous androids infected with the virus were not reported by anyone who heard anything._

Connor let the reconstruction come to life in his mind palace.

_The WR400 leaned over the kitchen counter, cutting vegetables — some green cabbage to add to the iceberg lettuce in the salad bowl. Hannah's arms wrapped around her waist, chin over the android's shoulder, cheeks pressed together._

_Then the WR400 stopped chopping._

_Hannah's arms withdrew as she took a step back, pulling the WR400's face to hers before she started shaking the android's shoulders and caressing her cheeks — Worried_ , Connor noted _, just as the reconstructed figure of the WR400 broke out of Hannah's embrace and picked up the kitchen knife. The blade plunged into the victim again and again and again, as the victim stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor,_ the same spot she laid when Connor broke his reconstruction.

_Hannah fell, then bled out quickly,_ He noted, gazing down at Hannah's body, her silky black hair spread out into a halo of blood.

_But when did the WR400 collapse?_

Connor glanced back over to the unresponsive android. As the blood surrounding Hannah's body was undisturbed, the android must not have touched her once she fell. That seemed too strange. He was missing something.

"Hank?" Connor called, waving him back over to the android's body.

"You found something?"

Connor shook his head, "Not anything more than the obvious. It appears the WR400 stabbed the victim to death, but I need your help with something."

"Shoot."

He gestured to the android, "I need you to help me inspect her — I can't risk touching, but you can."

"Uh..." Hank scratched his beard as he crouched on the other side of the body. "Okay, that makes sense. What do you want me to do?"

Connor tugged at the end of the WR400's shirt carefully, sure to only touch the fabric and not the android as he exposed her midsection. "I need you to push on the plate right above her navel. I'm sure you remember watching me reactivate the Traci at the Eden Club."

"Are you fucking serious?" Hank's glare was no less than mortified as he realized what Connor asked him to do. "You want me to root around in there and get her up and running for a minute before she dies again? No fuckin' way!"

"I need to know what happened, Hank."

Hank's light blue eyes met Connor's for a full five seconds as he worked his jaw, making sure the android really needed for him to do this, before sighing reluctantly and pushing up the sleeves of his coat.

"Fine," He growled, "Walk me through it."

"Push on that panel right under her skin and try to slide it," Connor instructed, pointing at the exact spot he wanted Hank's fingers to go.

Hesitantly, Hank brought his hands to the indicated spot. He gave Connor another long-suffering glare before pushing his fingertips down on the Traci’s stomach paneling.

_Red._

Her LED flashed red, but before Connor could say anything, she’d already thrown Hank off her. He stumbled and fell back on his rear as the Traci’s skin slowly reactivated, and she scooted away from him.

“It’s alright!” Connor put his hands up in a show of peace, hoping to calm her as his mind flashed back to the WR400 he’d reactivated at the Eden Club, overlapping the two androids. “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re with the police. Do you remember what happened?”

“I…” She trailed off as her eyes settled on the human victim, and she gave a cry, scrambling to her side, slicking the knees of her jeans with blood. “Hannah?” The Traci’s voice wavered, fingers running over the human’s face and hair, “Hannah, baby it’s me.”

When Hannah didn’t respond in any way, the Traci started crying, tears leaking from her eyes as she continued stroking the corpse's cheek, smearing crimson everywhere her stained fingers touched.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said softly, “But we need to know what happened to you.”

He couldn’t see a shutdown estimation. Unlike the previous reactivated Traci, he didn’t know how much time this one had left because he didn’t know enough about the virus.

The WR400 only shook her head as she rocked back and forth, cradling Hannah’s body, “I don’t—” She hiccuped pathetically, sobbing, eyes widening, “Oh God, I did this—I hurt her—I didn’t mean to.” She wailed, burying her face in her lover’s blood-soaked hair.

_She remembers killing Hannah while possibly under the influence of the virus._

“We think you may have contracted a virus,” Connor explained, “Can you run a diagnostic for me?”

The Traci nodded, her LED flickering yellow as her eyelids fluttered. “All systems are—” She cut off with a gasp.

Her synthetic skin dissolved away again as the Traci clutched her now-bare head and screamed. Connor shot a panicked look at Hank, who was staring at her as he scrambled to his feet. _Hank, look out._

_“Why would you make me do that!?”_ The Traci shrieked, grabbing the knife at her side.

_Protect Hank._

Connor’s superior processors allowed him to be slightly faster — fast enough to shove Hank to the side as she dove at them — but not fast enough to avoid the Traci lunging at them. Her blade glanced off his reinforced chest plate, ripping his jacket from the shoulder down. Fingers clenched down on the back of his neck as the WR400's momentum threw them into the wall.

“Connor!”

His audio processors picked up on Hank’s yell in the background, but he was unable to focus on anything aside from the android scrambling on top of him, tightening her fingers against the back plates of his neck.

The plastic cracked.

Connor threw up firewall after firewall, denying the request to interface. The Traci’s knife pierced through his hand and into the floor, as he continued to struggle against her probe attempts. Her fingers crunched through the shell at the back of his neck, slamming the plates, port, and wires together.

His vision filled with static and errors.

**//System Heat: WARNING**

Hank and some other officers were shouting, struggling, but almost all of Connor’s processors were focused on minimizing the errors, preventing the WR400 from accessing his code. Her hold on the back of his neck released as she was dragged off him by several pairs of hands.

Connor could hear Hank calling his name, feel him yank out the knife that pinned his hand to the floorboards, see him pull his body into a sitting position against the wall once he’d been freed, see him mouth something that was obscured by static. Connor realized his thirium supply had been restricted because of the damage to the back of his neck, and he winced as he redirected some more to his audio processors, forcing them to pick up what Hank was saying.

“—Are you alright? What’s wrong? Connor!?”

“I’ll be fine, Hank,” Connor saw him cringe at the tinny, metallic tone in his voice, “There’s some damage to the plating, tubes, and wires at the back of my neck. It’s causing some errors, but can be fixed.”

Hank sighed in relief, “Good thing we’ve got a CyberLife-certified tech on speed-dial then, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC: I hope we get to the crime scene safely  
> Connor: Actually we're dropping you off here — you're not invited.  
> MC: Then, perish.


	8. Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a couple moments, you struggled with how to respond — Honestly? Or would that be too much? Connor's tone was professional, even though anyone could see the care in his words. After three attempts to type a reply that ended in the entire thing being deleted, you settled on a middle-ground — an honest middle-ground.
> 
> "I look forward to seeing you too."
> 
> You prayed you weren't reading into this too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was particularly painful to write. Even though I'd been planning to do some detailed android repair since this scene inspired the whole series, it took me several tries to be even remotely happy with it.  
> I think it might also have something to do with the fact that I really enjoyed writing as Connor for the last chapter.

You were already showered and in bed when your phone vibrated against your nightstand, letting loose a light _ping!_

It had been placed there, out of immediate reach, after you'd checked through all your unread messages, unable to reply to the maintenance requests with the answer you wished you could. _Sorry, the shop's closed,_ you'd thought grimly, checking to make sure none of the requests were urgent enough that the android couldn't wait until you replaced your computer. Unfortunately, none of the androids needed anything you could help them with using just the tools you had. After another sigh, you'd placed the phone on its charging plate and tossed back two more anti-inflammatories before curling into the sheets.

And that's when the message arrived.

Connor didn't sign it with his name, nor was he saved anywhere in your contacts, and even if you hadn't recognized the serial number in the sender field, it was clearly from him.

_"Hello, I apologize for any inconvenience the lieutenant and I have caused you with the decision to return you to your apartment. Please be advised that I still intend to provide you with a replacement computer. Thank you for your assistance in this investigation."_

Then further down...

_"I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."_

Your fingers pressed tighter into the screen as you reread the message. Warmth spread from your chest all the way to your curled toes as you bit your lip, a futile attempt to stop your ridiculous smile. For a couple of moments, you struggled with how to respond — _Honestly? Or would that be too much?_ Connor's tone was professional, even though anyone could see the care in his words. After three attempts to type a reply that ended in the entire thing being deleted, you settled on a middle-ground — an _honest_ middle-ground.

_"I look forward to seeing you too."_

You prayed you weren't reading into this too much.

 

 

You couldn't remember what time it had been when you finally fell asleep, but it felt like you'd only been out for a couple of minutes when you woke to incessant knocking at your door. _God, make it stop,_ you thought, groaning into your pillow.

It didn't stop.

Blinking against the haze of sleep, you crawled to the edge of the bed before stumbling to the offending noise. Once you'd flicked on the lights (which caused you to wince and shield your eyes), you unlocked the door but left the chain hooked before glaring out at whoever had woken you at this unholy hour.

Hank and Connor stood outside — more accurately, Hank stood and Connor leaned against him, eyes closed and LED slowly blinking red.

_Well, I'm awake now,_ you thought.

"Why the fuck don't you answer your phone?" Hank growled as you scrambled to unlock the chain from the door.

“I—I was sleeping. It was on silent. What's wrong with Connor?!"

You couldn't tear your eyes away from Connor as Hank half-dragged him into your apartment and deposited the android on the couch. There was a large gash through the middle of one of his hands, dim blue lights flickered through the wound, surrounded by drying thirium, but that injury alone wouldn't be enough to warrant standby mode.

"Got jumped at the crime scene," Hank explained, "He said there's damage to the back of his neck — something about blue blood supply?"

Slowly, you reached around Connor's shoulders, pulling him forward to inspect the back of his neck. What you saw made your stomach drop — the plating that normally covered the primary data port at the back of an android's neck was cracked, exposing wires, thirium tubes, and the port, all dented and slightly warped as if they'd been squeezed together. More worrying, though, was the bits of Connor's shell that had _melted_ , gluing some of the components together, likely causing even more problems.

“What—" You struggled to keep your voice even as you peered closer, "What kind of errors did Connor mention before he went into standby."

"Shit, something about heat warnings?" Hank said, scratching his beard as you nodded. _That made sense,_ you thought, wincing as you gingerly touched the still-hot parts that melted. "You can fix this, right?" Worry crept into Hank's tone.

You nodded again, "Yeah — yeah, I can fix this, but it's going to take some time. Can you help me move him so that he's laying down on his side? I need to be able to access this easier."

Hank grunted but guided Connor to lay flat, then rolled the android on his side, so the back of his neck faced out. You muttered a ' _thanks'_ as you knelt down on the carpet beside the couch with some of your tools that you'd hastily grabbed from your desk.

"Can you bring me some ice from the trays in the freezer? In a plastic bag, please?" You asked, tenderly brushing the surrounding undamaged plates that were also too hot. The heat warnings were probably why he entered standby. Hopefully, he'd done that willingly to prevent further damage and to try and cool down his components.

_So what was causing the heating problems?_ You prodded Connor, wishing more than anything that you could run a diagnostic. With a shake of your head (thoughts like that wouldn’t help), you resigned yourself to rely on your eyes. You didn’t need your fancy software to fix him. After you were certain you’d cataloged all the damage, you came up with two theories for why Connor entered standby.

_One, the melted plastic cementing the wiring wasn’t allowing any ventilation and could lead to the overheating and further melting._ You could repair this by removing all the melted plastic and restoring everything to its proper place.

_Two, the heating and cracks in his thirium network were causing reduced flow to the components in Connor’s head._ Laying Connor down like he was now could help the flow not have to work against gravity, but you’d also need to patch the leaks and fix any obstructions to get his processors back to optimal amounts.

After bringing you the ice to push up against the still-intact parts of Connor's neck, Hank paced around behind you anxiously while you used one of your non-conductive files to chip away at the melted shell to free wires and tubing. You couldn't see Hank's pacing, but each time he walked past you or leaned over your shoulder, you had to bite back the urge to ask him to stop. _He's just worried,_ you reminded yourself, trying to ignore the voice that chimed in, _like me._

As your file chipped away the last melted plastic around his access port, Connor's body jerked.

" _Hey, easy!"_ Hank yelled, causing you to flinch.

You exhaled shakily, trying to calm yourself enough to reply, "I'm not hurting him, I'm being as gentle as I can."

“Sorry,” Hank muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he dropped into the armchair next to your couch. “ _Fuck.”_

You inspected Connor's injury now that the fragmented, melted plastic had been cleared. The way he'd jerked seemed like he felt _something._ Nervousness pooled in your stomach the longer Hank watched you. You pushed the feelings aside — doubting yourself wasn’t going to help.

_One problem down, one to go,_ you sighed.

Fortunately, Connor’s thirium tubing seemed to be made of reasonably strong stuff — no significant tears or cuts from his shattered plates — the smaller, leaking cracks could be patched up with your soldering iron. Hank continued to observe silently until you finished closing the cracks.

Once you finished, you carefully ran your fingers over the now-cleared wires and tubes at the back of Connor's neck. They came away sticky with his blood but were no longer burning hot thanks to the airflow and surrounding ice.

You wiped away the remaining thirium, staining the cleaning cloth blue. _The heat warning error should be gone, and his components should have adequate thirium flow,_ you thought, sighing in relief and pressing the tips of your fingers against Connor's slowly-blinking LED

"Connor," You called softly, "You can exit standby now.”

His LED circled yellow, then blue, before his eyes opened. Slowly, Connor twitched his fingers and pushed himself into a sitting position on the couch. You waited patiently as he scanned your apartment, the injury to his hand, then finally his chocolate-brown eyes settled on you, kneeling on the floor.

_Calm down,_ you scolded yourself when your heart started beating faster.

“Welcome back,” Hank said with a slight grin.

“I—” Connor hesitated, reaching to feel the damage at the back of his neck, “I’m missing some of my chassis.”

“Sorry, Connor,” You sighed, “I haven’t finished repairs. Hank told me about the heat warnings — are they gone?”

He nodded jerkily, eyes flicking over the blue-splattered tools and cloth, as well as the melted plating you’d cleaned from his wound. “It seems the problem with my thirium flow is fixed as well — my components are fully operational. Thank you.”

The last words were softer, and his gaze lingered on you a little longer than you felt comfortable with. You tried to calm your mind to fight the flush rising in your cheeks. _God, I hope I’m not projecting,_ you thought. It was entirely possible you only saw what you wanted to.

“Well you’ve still got a gaping hole in the back of your neck and hand,” Hank snorted, “I don’t think she’s done yet.”

Connor shot Hank a look that could only be described as a _glare._ Apparently, Hank was as surprised as you, since he cleared his throat awkwardly, melting under the android’s scrutiny. It made your heart clench painfully.

“He’s right, I need to fix your hand and replace the pieces of your chassis that were damaged. I wanted to make sure I took care of the worst of your injuries first though.”

“Gave us a good scare,” Hank said gruffly.

“My apologies,” Connor replied, “Initiating standby seemed like the best choice to make, given the situation. I hope I didn’t worry you.”

Hank snorted nonchalantly, and you had to hold back the urge to smirk as you remembered exactly how _worried_ he’d been. Instead, you retrieved your tools and shakily pushed off the ground, wincing when your knees left the floor — you hadn’t realized how uncomfortable you’d been till now.

You nodded at Hank before speaking up, “Fixing his hand and replacing the chassis might take a while, but he’s out of the woods.”

“It’s nearly four a.m.” Connor’s eyes flicked back to Hank, “You should get some rest. We have to report to the precinct in five hours.”

Hank groaned, running a hand over his face, “Fuck, don’t remind me.” He turned to you. “You got this, kid?”

“I can finish up.” You nodded, trying to not seem too relieved at the idea that Hank wouldn’t be breathing down your neck while you worked.

 

After the door clicked shut behind Hank, neither you nor Connor spoke. In an attempt to ignore the awkward pit curling in your stomach, you buried yourself in repairing the gash through the android’s hand. _Calm down,_ you told yourself, _you’ve been alone together in your apartment before._

Unfortunately, that had been before your little revelation in Hank’s car.

Connor didn’t seem to mind the silence. His brown eyes watched you work, something you tried not to think about until you couldn’t stand the growing silence anymore.

“What happened?” You asked.

“Are you referring to what caused the injury to my hand, my neck, or what happened at the crime scene?”

“I—” You shrugged, “What happened to your hand, or the crime scene — whatever you feel like talking about.”

“It was a kitchen knife. A WR400 android—” Connor’s fingers twitched in yours as you reattached a severed wire.

Wincing sympathetically, you stopped poking at his injury. “I’m sorry.”

“Androids do not feel pain,” Connor’s eyebrows furrowed quizzically, and his head tilted slightly, “I would have thought you’d—”

“But you still feel what I’m doing,” You interrupted him, “I know how sensitive your hands are… I’ll try to be more careful.”

Connor swallowed. _How strange,_ you thought, returning your gaze to his injured hand, _an unnecessary, human tic._ A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you remembered how he’d flicked a coin between his fingers, how he tilted his head — all movements that made him seem restless, nervous, _alive._ Did that mean you were making Connor nervous?

_Stop projecting your feelings,_ you scolded yourself yet again.

You stayed silent as you finished reconnecting the damaged wires in Connor’s hand, re-insulating them, and sealing the shell. Once you brushed your thumb over the repair, Connor’s fingers twitched again, and his synthetic skin reappeared.

“Thank you,” He muttered.

You nodded, quickly letting go before your heart rate increased to incriminating levels. “I’m just going to need to replace the shell you lost, and then you’ll be good as new.”

Without a glance back, you shuffled to your bedroom and retrieved your tablet. You flicked through some backup blueprints before sighing with disappointment — _these probably wouldn’t do._ Still buried in your tablet, you flopped back down onto the couch cushions, frowning and biting your lip.

“Is something the matter?” Connor asked.

“No,” You hesitated, “I think I’ll have to make you a custom replacement — Can you lean forward for me?”

Connor obliged and you kneeled on the cushion beside him to scan the hole in his shell with your tablet’s camera. After double-checking the measurements, you settled back into your side of the couch, crossing your bare legs underneath you, with the stylus between your teeth.

You were vaguely aware of Connor’s piercing gaze roaming over you as you tapped commands into your tablet, adjusting the design for the replacement plate.

“I could hold that for you,” Connor offered.

Blinking, you turned to look at him and took the stylus out of your mouth to speak, “Hold what?”

“Your tablet pen.”

Connor reached out to take it from you, but you reddened, realizing he’d watched you hold it between your lips, and twirled it between your fingers instead. “Um, no, that’s okay.”

Another moment of silence passed before he spoke again, “Is there something you’d like me to do?”

“No, that’s ok.”

“I feel like I should do something.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

The cushions shifted when Connor leaned back against them. He remained quiet. You’d just slipped back into work-mode when something warm softly brushed your pinky finger.

_Connor?_

You struggled to keep your eyes forward, on your tablet, on your work, anywhere but at Connor as he laid his previously damaged hand on top of yours.

_I’m so fucked,_ you couldn’t help but think, heart fluttering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC: I leave you two alone for FIVE MINUTES.  
> Hank: ... Welcome to my life.


	9. Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear on my life this chapter was supposed to be fluffy.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who leaves a kudos or comment — they mean the world to me.

Connor stared at you.

It wasn't one of the stares you were used to — this one was blank, unfeeling, even slightly creepy, but you couldn't help taking a couple of steps closer, across the chasm of white between you. As you approached, his chocolate brown eyes never left you, following your every move as you neared the platform, heels clacking against the immaculate floor.

"RK800," Your voice spoke on its own — you hadn't moved your lips, "Run a diagnostic."

Connor's eyelids fluttered for a moment before his gaze returned to you. "All systems are fully operational," He reported.

You tried to smile, but your face wouldn't let you.

Slowly, you paced around the sterile white platform, observing, making notes on the tablet that somehow appeared in your hands — Connor turned his head to keep his eyes trained on you. He tracked your every move, even when someone else entered the room.

"RK800, what is your mission?" The newcomer asked.

"My mission is to hunt and capture deviants, and I always accomplish my mission."

Now you wanted to frown — you wanted to turn and see who the other person was, but you couldn't.

"How are things going?" They asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you stared up at the suspended RK800.

"Pretty well," You replied, although you _hated_ that tone in your voice, _hated_ that you even answered, "I just finished the simulations lined up for today — I'll send you the report once I've completed it."

"Good. I'll let you handle the disassembly."

_The what?_

"Of course," Your voice answered anyway, as you deftly flicked away your notes and brought up the crane controls.

_What am I doing?_

The grip on your shoulder tightened until your fingers began moving on their own, tapping away at the tablet as the mechanical arms supporting Connor came to life.

_No, stop!_

The arms froze, and relief coursed through your body. You glanced down at your tablet to see a malfunction error — your previous command had been overridden.

"Are you serious?" The other person sighed, and you felt the pressure on your shoulder lighten, before they nudged you forward, towards the RK800. "Sorry, guess you'll have to do this the hard way."

_The hard way?_

Before you'd had time to think about what they meant, your hands were reaching towards the platform. Your fingers brushed Connor's chilled synthetic skin, and it dissolved under your touch to reveal the joint. You hooked your fingernails behind the latch, pulling until his leg came free.

_Oh no, I don't want to do this._

But you did it anyway — slowly, mechanically, you cradled the deactivated leg component and gently set it aside. After that, your hands wandered along the RK800's other smooth socket and released the left leg.

_Please, I don't want to do this._

Connor's intense gaze continued to follow you, cataloging every move you made, each component you removed and set aside. He didn't say anything, didn't change his expression as you slowly took him apart piece by piece, screaming inside your head.

_Stop it! You have to stop!_

But you didn't stop — couldn't stop. The RK800 was stripped of his limbs, and you stepped up onto the platform with him, your faces only inches away. Against everything you felt, your hand trailed up his torso, fingertips brushing the plane of his abdomen until you found what you were looking for. Just as you tightened your grip, his expression suddenly changed.

"Please," Connor's eyes widened as he begged, "I don't want to die."

_"You can't die, RK800 — You're not alive."_

_Then, your hand twisted, yanking out his thirium pump._

 

Gasping, you jerked awake, heart pounding against your ribs. You blinked your eyes, trying to clear the images of that lab that seemed seared into your brain.

_It was just a dream,_ you reassured yourself, _not real._

After a few seconds, you felt calm enough to sit up but winced when you realized you were covered with sweat and ached from falling asleep on the couch.

_Why were you on the couch?_

You glanced around, noticing the pastel blanket that had slid off one of your bare legs and onto the floor — you must have kicked it off during the night. Slowly, you ran a clammy hand through your hair and reached for the blanket, scrunching it up in your lap as your gaze fell on the tools from last night. _Oh, fuck that's right,_ You bolted up, expecting to see Connor still sitting on the couch.

He wasn't.

Your apartment was empty, except for you, and you let out a shaky sigh, before settling back into the couch cushions and reaching for the tablet perched on the side table. The messages app opened when you flicked the screen to life.

_"Good morning,_

_Although you insisted I didn't need to do anything for you, I took the liberty of cooking breakfast with what you had in your fridge. I'm not a household model, so I apologize if it's not up to your standards. I have to return to the precinct but will ensure you receive your replacement computer soon._

_Thank you,_

_Connor"_

Your fingers curled tighter into the blanket as you finished reading — somewhere along the way, a smile tugged at your lips. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest, but it was so different from when you'd woken up, terrified. With the blanket draped around your shoulders, you headed to the kitchen, where a dish with another plate on top of it waited for you. Carefully, you lifted the top plate off to find...

_An omelet._

With cheese and some vegetables, perfectly folded with some fresh fruit on the side. You bit your lip as you stared at the still-warm breakfast. _How the hell did he make this without waking me up,_ you wondered as you took out a fork and knife from the silverware drawer. Sure, you'd been exhausted and only had a couple of hours sleep before Hank barged in with Connor, but the lengths he must have gone through to let you rest...

_Oh, that's good._

Warm, fluffy, and perfect — you resisted the urge to groan as you cut off another piece. _'Household model,' my ass,_ you thought, with only a slight twinge of bitterness that you'd probably never be able to replicate this taste yourself. You took a second bite and began typing out a message to Connor.

_"The omelet is delicious, thank you!"_

He replied immediately, _"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it."_ A few seconds passed before a second message arrived, _"Did you sleep well?"_

_"Yes,"_ You began typing, but the nightmare flashed back into your memory, and you sighed, changing your reply, _"As well as can be expected."_

You looked back down at the plate on your lap, then at the blanket you were sure was left on your bed the night before. You remembered the warmth of Connor's hand on yours — the hand you'd just repaired.

" _You can't die, RK800 — You're not alive."_

Your voice sounded so cold. Was that even you speaking? You shivered, clenching the blanket tighter around yourself as afterimages from the nightmare played in your mind again and again and _again_ of you sliding your fingers against Connor's plating and taking him apart.

_It was just a dream,_ you told yourself again, _Right?_

 

Two hours later you found yourself at a nearby cafe, clenching a warm cup, thawing your frozen skin as steam wafted off the top. You couldn't stand to be cooped up inside the small apartment anymore, reliving the feel of a cold plastic shell under your fingers, unable to distract yourself.

_Fuck,_ you cursed internally and took a long sip, trying to ignore the way your hands shook — hands that were stained with blue —  _No, we're not doing this today,_ you pleaded with yourself, as if that would somehow work this time, _I can't do this. I have work to do._

But there wasn't any work to distract yourself with — No android maintenance requests you could do with the tools you had at your disposal, no new evidence or code to analyze to help with the virus investigation, no task that you could take on to help these androids.

_Help them? Or ease your own guilt?_

Connor seemed to believe that you'd helped him, that you'd done him some great service, something to warrant tucking you in when you finally passed out from exhaustion and cooking you breakfast. It didn't feel that great — all the damage he'd sustained was minor, and although the heat warnings probably scared Hank, Connor's condition wasn't dire. Any CyberLife grunt could have patched up some cracks and fitted him with new chassis plates.

Sighing, you took another sip, staring blankly at the snow falling outside, blanketing the autonomous taxi that just pulled up to the curb. The door slid open, and you tried (and failed) to force yourself not to sputter into your cup as _Connor_ stepped out.

He found you instantly, eyes locking on yours as soon as he stepped into the cafe, and he made his way through the crowded tables and chairs. As he got closer, you couldn't help but notice the snow dusting his hair and the few flakes caught in his long eyelashes.

"Is this seat taken?" Connor asked, gesturing at the empty chair on the other side of your table.

"No," You replied, unable to think of a clever response quickly enough as you _stared_ at Connor's brown bomber jacket. "You're not wearing your CyberLife uniform," You observed weakly.

His eyebrow quirked up. "No, I'm not. It was ruined last night. Is this a problem?"

_'Is this a problem?'_ You fought the urge to avert your gaze.  _So what, he has new clothes,_ you thought, biting your lip at your ridiculousness. "It's fine," You finally said, cringing at how forced your tone sounded before you awkwardly added, "Looks nice."

Apparently, this was the right thing to say because Connor _beamed. Oh God, it's like staring into the sun —_ you quickly looked at your drink instead.

"Thank you, they're the first clothes I've bought for myself," He replied.

His words gripped your heart like a vice, choking you, but you forced a smile on your lips before you returned his gaze. "That's nice, Connor. I'm glad you bought some new stuff."

A moment passed, then two, and you realized Connor didn't intend to reply right away. He was staring at you, brows furrowed, _analyzing._ Your fingers tightened around the cup.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"No, I'm fine."

Connor didn't look like he believed you for even a second as his LED spun yellow. You knew you were a mediocre liar.

"Can I ask you something?"

_A personal question?_ You thought, feeling pathetic — Connor could tell you weren't 'fine' and was trying to be gentle. "Yeah," You replied.

"Am I bothering you?" Connor asked quietly.

" _What?"_ Your head jerked up, and you withered under his inquisitive gaze, "No— Connor, you're not— you're not bothering me. Sorry, I'm just..." You shrugged and waved a hand, "I'm just stressed."

"Stressed about what?"

"You know, the uh, the case," Sighing, you tapped your fingers against the table, trying to balance honesty with not revealing anything you weren't ready to, "The virus, all those androids I can't help right now..."

Connor leaned forward slightly. "You're anxious because of our lack of progress?"

"Yeah," You muttered, rubbing your temples, "I can't stop thinking about it."

You didn't mention the other things you were thinking about — the nightmare, how his hard shell felt under your fingertips, your time at CyberLife, his hand snaking over yours after you repaired it.

The last memory caused you to flush — something Connor didn't miss. He observed you, gaze flicking from your cheeks to your chest to your hand, which twitched on the table when you noticed him watching. Then he looked at his own hand, and your face caught fire.

_Stop projecting, stop projecting, stop projecting,_ you repeated to yourself, trying to somehow hide your burning pink cheeks by taking a drink. Connor was definitely _not_ looking at your hand and then his, thinking the same thing as you were.

_And what were you thinking?_ That you wanted to reach across the table and take his fingers in yours? That you wanted to hold hands over a pair of steaming mugs, laughing in the cafe like a Hallmark Christmas special?

"Did I make you uncomfortable when I touched you last night?"

You couldn't stop yourself from sputtering this time, coughing ungracefully. "N-No!" _This android was going to be the death of you._

"You seem uncomfortable."

"Do I?" You asked through gritted teeth, unable to look at Connor at all, cheeks burning as you tried to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"I didn't mean to make you feel that way, of course. I apologize. I just—" Connor hesitated, and his synthetic skin dissolved on his hand, revealing the now-smooth spot the knife cut through, the spot you repaired. "I'm not used to being repaired," He finally admitted. "If I were injured badly during the deviant investigation, CyberLife would issue a replacement RK800."

_Jesus Christ that's fucked up._

"It was... nice—intimate, to be taken care of in such a way," Connor continued, "I felt the need to express myself."

Heart fluttering, you glanced up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I can understand that," you muttered, because you did, on some deep fucked-up level — there was so much you wanted to say but couldn't, whether it was because you didn't know how to or because you held yourself back, it was all the same result in the end.

This building frustration that made you want to comfort him, touch him, even as your fears of falling too hard, too fast, of him knowing what you'd done, of only seeing what you wanted to in his words and actions, _projecting,_ kept pulling you back, reminding you to wait this out, to not risk it.

_You couldn't risk it._

"Thank you," Connor said softly, "For fixing me, and _..._ " He trailed off.

_And what?_ Your eyes widened, every muscle tense as you waited — needing to hear, yet terrified of what he might say.

"...For trying to understand. Sometimes I don't even understand."

"Emotions are hard," You scoffed, trying not too sound too bitter — the words hit too close to home right now. They made your throat tighten as you struggled to keep your face neutral, impassive. This was supposed to be about _Connor_.

"You're starting to sound like Hank," Connor chuckled — something new, something you'd never heard him do. Awed, you stared at him, burning the image in your mind of the android in his new logo-free jacket, relaxing in the seat opposite the table, _laughing._ For the first time, you noticed Connor had dimples when he smiled, and his brown eyes crinkled when he returned your stare.

It was so different than the dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Hey Connor, you going to join me for lunch?  
> Connor: No thanks Lieutenant, I already have plans with MC.  
> Hank: You invited her to lunch?  
> Connor: No.  
> Hank: She invited YOU to lunch?  
> Connor: …No?


	10. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who joined me for my weird journey yesterday that was my Chloex3 fic — Whether that was reading it or taking one look at the tags and nope-ing out, I know it was really different than the stuff you're used to from me.
> 
> And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

The Detroit Police Department looked just as you remembered — a small lobby near the entrance with chairs (only a couple of which were occupied), a screen playing the latest news (a glance told you Joss Douglas was talking about the newest tension in android-human relations),and sterling floors that your shoes clicked clearly against as you made your way to reception.

“Hello, how may I help you?” An ST300 greeted you, smiling.

She looked different from the ST300s you’d seen before the revolution. Her hair was no longer a mousy brown, but silver, tossed over one shoulder, freed from the stock ponytail. Her clothes were also different. Instead of her CyberLife uniform, she wore a flowery blouse and slacks. The most noticeable difference though, was her expression — the ST model line was programmed to welcome with her face and voice, so they always smiled perfectly, but the android in front of you now only had one side of her lip quirked up. Her smile was even more beautiful and looked far more human than the pre-programmed ones.

You couldn’t help smiling back as you replied, “Good morning, I’m here to see Connor and Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Do you have authorization?”

You nodded. “They asked me to come by today, Connor should be expecting me.”

“One moment please,” She said, and her brown eyes unfocused. If she’d still had an LED, you guessed it would be flashing yellow. After a moment, she spoke again, “Connor said you could go right back, their desks are near the center of the bullpen,” She must have seen the confused look on your face because she continued in a whispered tone, “Look near the big glass office in the middle,” She said with a wink.

“Thank you, uh—” You trailed off.

“Theresa,” She said.

“Thanks, Theresa.”

Theresa beamed and nodded at the security gate, which you passed through, toward the glass office she'd mentioned. Sure enough, Connor and Hank were seated at a pair of desks by the set of stairs. One was pristine, with only a terminal and small nameplate on it, whereas the other one — the one Hank and Connor were seated around — was a disaster, covered in files, a dead plant, a grease-stained box of donuts, and at least two old coffee mugs.

That desk was probably Hank's.

Hank leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, while Connor sat on the edge of the desk, wearing the same brown bomber jacket from yesterday over a button-down, looking displeased. As you approached, you caught the end of their conversation

"—won't be a problem."

As you got closer, you could see Hank smirk before replying, "Are you sure about that, Connor?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

"Jesus Christ," Hank rolled his eyes, groaning, "Not this again..."

When he trailed off, his gaze fell to you, and his snarky grin returned. Connor noticed Hank's attention shift and looked over his shoulder.

"Good morning," You tried, unsure what you'd just interrupted.

"Mornin'," Hank replied as if you'd somehow said something hilarious.

Connor cleared his throat (which you knew he didn't need to do) and stood off Hank's desk. He didn't say anything, or even move, just _stood_ there, watching you, as his LED shifted yellow. _What the hell is going on_ , you wondered, quashing down the urge to come out and ask. Instead, something much worse happened.

_You_ awkwardly cleared your throat.

Hank snorted, and you had the sudden urge to die on the spot, before he slapped his desk and spoke up, "For fuck's sake, don't just stand there. Pull up a chair."

Snapping out of your embarrassed haze, you grabbed the chair on the other side of Hank's desk and scooted it closer, until it bumped against your legs and you sat down. Connor slowly re-settled onto the one clean edge of Hank's desk, legs dangling below him. 

Every glance you stole of Connor's profile sent your heart thrumming in your chest and brought up memories from the coffee shop the day before, how warm he'd been. Quickly averting your gaze, you rummaged in your bag before pulling out the tablet and stylus you'd brought. 

Now was not the time to be making things awkward — You were here to help with the case.

"So, what have we got?" Hank asked.

_Good, right to business,_ you thought, opening a holo-board app that would project what you wrote so they could see.

"There have been six confirmed cases of androids infected with the virus," Connor started, "Two AP700s, a PL600, an AX400, an HR400, and a WR400. Aside from the two AP700s, there's no link between model types or even programmed functions."

"So it's safe to assume this virus could affect any android," You said once you finished scribbling the model names followed by ' _i_ _nfects all androids.'_ "We also know a little bit about what it does: corrupts and wipes an android's memory and then their base coding."

"Base coding?" Hank looked at you like you'd sprouted another head.

"I'm extrapolating from what happened when I tried initializing a reset on the AX400," You explained, adding ' _erase memory, corrupt base coding'_ under _'What the virus does'_ , "If just the memory had been wiped, I should have been able to pull _something_ or reset her, but I couldn't, so this is messing with their core programming."

Hank groaned, mumbling something about how this was above his pay grade as he ran his hand over his beard.

“She means that every part of the android is destroyed by the virus, not just their memories,” Connor piped in, shifting on the desk.

You nodded when Hank looked at you for confirmation, and continued, “That means it's different than the typical memory wipes or reset we’d—I mean—CyberLife techs would give an android.”

A bushy grey brow raised at your stumble — Hank didn’t miss what you’d almost said, and neither did Connor from how he stiffened. 

_Fuck,_ you frowned and averted your gaze. Connor and Hank had avoided asking what kind of work you did at CyberLife, and for that you were grateful. You didn’t want to tell them about it, but more slips like this and one of these times you’d let loose just a little too much, enough for them to be repulsed, tell you to leave, that they didn’t need your help, and then, would probably never speak to you again. Hell, you probably wouldn’t speak about this again if you could help it — the nightmares and stress were bad enough.

“Why would an android need a memory wipe?” Hank asked.

_Okay, I guess we’re not letting it go,_ you thought, clenching your teeth as chilling nervousness settled over your skin. You opened your mouth to answer, but Connor beat you to it.

“Sometimes an android was returned to CyberLife badly damaged when the customer couldn’t make payments or traded in for a newer model. In most cases, CyberLife would wipe or reset the android’s memory so they wouldn’t remember their time with the previous owner."

"They can do that? Just reset them?" Hank blinked in surprise.

" _Could,_ " You corrected, softly, "They _could_ do that — Not anymore."

"Jesus that's fucked up."

Numbly, you nodded in agreement, vaguely aware of Connor's piercing gaze, probably analyzing you. That realization definitely did _not_ help the anxiety curling in the pit of your stomach. Just when you thought you'd break under his scrutiny, Connor spoke up again.

"Can we get back to the case, Hank?"

The lieutenant looked floored and with a grumble buried his face back in the case files _._ You couldn't resist mouthing a 'thank you,' which you thought would go undetected, but were proven wrong when Connor _winked_ at you.

_Oh, this android is going to be the death of me,_ you thought, wide-eyed as your heart pounded and cheeks flushed furiously. But if he noticed that (who were you kidding, this was _Connor,_ of course he noticed), he didn't say anything and instead steamrolled on about the investigation as if he didn't just give you an arrhythmia.

"We know it spreads through interfacing or memory probing between two androids," Connor continued, pausing so you could scribble his words under a new column: ' _h_ _ow the virus is spread.'_ "I'm thinking it's unlikely to pass on after the android is shut down, though, as I probed all three of the first androids and didn't download the virus — it's only transferred successfully while the infected android is still alive."

"What about other types of connections?" You asked, "Like a call?"

"Also unlikely — we'd have many more than six victims if it could download without a physical connection, and I talked to the friend of the PL600 again yesterday, they'd spoken wirelessly earlier that day, but the other android hasn't been infected."

' _Only'_ was added in front of the ' _spread through interface/probe'_ in the projected notes.

"What about the uh—" Hank trailed off, waving his hand, "Creepy murder-bot thing. What does that tell us?"

You and Connor frowned at 'murder-bot,' but you replied anyway, "Only Wallace and the WR400 from the last crime scene were violent, though, right?"

"That's correct. Although the other four were already shut down by the time we arrived on the scene, Wallace reported no violent behavior from Lily, the AX400, and he didn't have any signs of damage on his body — neither did the original three androids."

Thinking, you twirled the stylus between your fingers, unsure what to do with this information. _Why would only two out of the six androids infected try to kill someone?_ You continued fiddling with the pen, and Connor folded his hands as his LED spun yellow, thinking, but Hank was the one who spoke up first.

"Oh, _shit,_ " He hissed.

Connor's LED switched back to blue, and your fingers froze as you both turned to Hank, who looked like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

"The, uh, the two violent ones were the only ones with humans in the room."

You dropped the pen.

"But—" You spoke up as you quickly retrieved it, "But the WR400 attacked _Connor_ after she killed her girlfriend."

Hank's expression darkened further as Connor stared at him, LED spinning yellow again, before he replied, "She wasn't aiming for me. She lunged at him with the knife."

"Fuckin' hell," Hank spat, leaning back in his chair with a groan.

"So, the virus leads them to—what—kill any humans?" You asked, "Why? That doesn't make any sense."

"It does if that's the intended purpose," Connor replied, "Androids slaughtering humans is a quick way to destroy any public support Markus and Jerico have right now."

Unable to think of anything that felt right to say, you slowly wrote _'attack humans'_ under the other symptoms in the  _'what the virus does'_ section.For a couple moments, no one spoke, just stared at the growing list of causes and effects. You could almost hear Connor's processors whirring as he kept his eyes trained straight ahead, appearing to look _through_ the words rather than at them.

"We can't wait until we find out who's behind this," Connor said, "We need to start working on an antivirus, or at least a block until we catch who made this."

"Can you do that?" Hank stared at you pointedly.

You bit your lip. In all honesty, it seemed impossible. You had _nothing_ from the code of the virus, no idea how it worked or what to look for. Hacking androids or corrupting their software was _supposed_ to be impossible — a virus like this, while CyberLife could still be held responsible, would have _ruined_ the company and spurred thousands of lawsuits.

"I can try, but I'm not sure where to start... I don't even know what I'm trying to program against," you admitted, "Until I can get my hands on that virus code, maybe see what it's doing, the best I can do is try to give non-affected androids some kind of protection against it."

Hank shrugged and nodded.

"You can use some of the firewalls I built," Connor offered, "They were rushed, incomplete, but they kept the WR400 from uploading the virus onto my systems."

You vaguely remembered Connor bringing this up at the cafe yesterday when he'd told you the full story behind his injuries, and you cursed yourself for being so distracted by his face, his eyes, his _company_ that you didn't think of this yourself.

And he was distracting you — no matter how hard you tried to focus on the case, focus on helping androids.

"So I guess that leaves us to, uh, do what while she works on that?" Hank asked.

"We should continue checking in with androids who were close with the victims, make sure none downloaded the virus and passed it along," Connor replied, "I spoke with most of them yesterday, but Markus confirmed some of the androids we need to speak with are at Jerico."

Hank hefted a sigh, "Great... field work. Let's get to it."

He stood up and Connor hopped off the desk to follow, when Hank turned back around, looking confused.

"Aren't you gonna, uh," Hank waved his hand and leaned toward Connor, "You know?"

_ What? _

When Connor didn't reply, just pulled at the edges of his bomber jacket, looking uncomfortable, Hank rolled his eyes and groaned, "I thought you androids weren't supposed to forget things, huh?"

"I didn't forget," Connor replied, tone clipped, as he walked around to his desk and opened a drawer. He took something out and returned to Hank's desk, to your side. "This should help. I've already uploaded the firewalls," Connor said, and placed a sleek package in front of you, complete with a holo-bow. 

You blinked, glancing between the black box and him. Hesitantly, You put down your tablet and reached toward it, slightly unnerved when you realized both Connor and Hank were _watching_ every move you made. Trying to ignore them, you lifted the lid.

"Oh my God," You whispered, eyes wide.

It was a replacement computer — same brand, but top-of-the-line, even better than the one CyberLife issued you for work. With shaking fingers, you lifted it from the plush casing and flipped it open. A pleasant ping emitted, and the computer thrummed to life, already set up. You tapped into the system settings and felt your heart thundering against your ribs as you scrolled through the specs. _Holy shit,_ you thought, _this thing probably costs more than half a year's rent._

"Are you sure I..." You trailed off, gaze flicking between the two of them.

Connor beamed, his entire face lit up (your heart skipped a beat, which you _swore_ made him smile harder), and Hank crossed his arms and snorted.

"Jesus Christ, kid," He chuckled, "My ex-wife didn't even look at me like you're looking at that thing."

Blushing furiously, you ducked your head. "I just—I know you said you'd replace it, but I didn't it would be so—this is too much. Thank you so much, you guys."

Hank's blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he shrugged and jabbed a thumb at Connor. "It was all him."

The android's eyes flicked to Hank, sharp, like he'd just revealed something Connor didn't want you to know. Hank only shrugged again, jingling his keys in his pocket as he turned and strolled away. You and Connor watched his retreating back as he walked off without checking to see if the android had followed.

"Thank you, Connor," You managed to meet his gaze this time, when he turned back to you, "This is... much more than I was expecting."

"You're welcome," He replied, oddly stiff.

You felt a slight twinge of unhappiness at that. Where was the Connor from yesterday — the one who bared his soul over the repairs, who invited you to speak honestly about what was worrying you (even though you didn't), who opened up about needing to express himself?

_Well, you could express yourself, too._

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you clutched the new computer to your chest and leaned on your tip-toes to peck a kiss against Connor's cheek. When you pulled away, his hand flew up to touch the spot your lips just left, and his LED spun red, red, red, until his gaze met yours again, then... _blue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC: Okay, so about this virus  
> Connor *does anything*  
> MC *grabbing chest and wheezing*: FuCk


	11. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from Connor's P.O.V. because I can't help myself.  
> I'm not going to say too much more about it since I don't want to risk spoiling anything, but we're over 25k words and if you've picked up on what I'm doing with the chapter names, you can probably tell what next chapter is going to be about.

**// Sync In Progress…**

**// Processing Data…**

**// Substance ???: Diisostearyl Malate, Polyglyceryl-2, Triisosterate, Hydrogenated Polyisobutene, Silica Dimethyl Silyate, Prunus Amygdalus Dulcis (Sweet Almond) Oil, Calendula Officinalis Flower Oil, Rose Flower Oil…**

 

“What the fuck are you licking now?!”

Connor snapped out of his analysis, LED shifting from blinking yellow to cool blue as he tilted his head to return Hank’s stare, because that’s what Hank was doing — stopped at a stoplight, staring at Connor, wearing what he could only classify as a _smirk._ He was starting to get tired of seeing Hank’s mouth do that. It usually meant he was about to be teased.

Slowly, Connor took his fingers off his tongue and closed his mouth before replying, “The light’s green, Hank.”

Hank’s attention returned to the road as he swore and pressed on the gas again, causing the car to jerk. He continued to eye Connor shiftily, waiting for the android to answer his question. Connor didn’t. Instead, he touched his hand back to his cheek again, turning the sensitivity on his fingertips up.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you? You’ve been acting weird since you got in the car — What, did she not like it?”

Connor remained silent, lost in a replay of his memories.

“Okay fine, don’t talk, but don’t think I don’t notice you touching your face over there like a fucking weirdo,” Hank said, raising one of his shaggy brows, “Either she slapped you or…”

His voice trailed off, and he leaned towards Connor, as if imploring him to finish the sentence, but Connor wasn’t going to. Hank sighed again, grumbling something about talking to a brick wall, before shifting back into his seat and staring straight ahead at the road.

Once Hank wasn’t watching anymore, Connor put his fingers back on his tongue.

 

**// Sync In Progress…**

**// Processing Data…**

 

The flood of ingredients scrolled across his view again, a mix of synthesized materials, various floral and nut oils, fruit extracts, and some dyes. Gaze flicking down to the tips of his pointer and middle finger, Connor saw the faint smudge of pink-red against his skin.

“Is that blood?!”

Connor blinked. Hank stared at the color on his fingers, mortified.

“No, Hank, this is not blood,” Connor started, a regretful twinge in his circuits when he realized he hadn’t wanted the lieutenant to see this — Why was that? It wasn’t like she’d asked him to keep this a secret, so why did he feel this way?

“Well, then what the fuck is it?”

“I believe it’s lip gloss, lieutenant.”

“Lip—“ Hank’s voice choked off, and the back of his head hit the car seat, “I didn’t think androids got chapped lips, so why do you have cherry-colored lip gloss?”

Connor re-analyzed the stain on his fingers — it was _not_ the same color as a cherry. He frowned.

Hank continued, “Please tell me you didn’t buy it just to lick it.”

“This isn’t mine.”

Rubbing a hand over his beard, Hank jerked in his seat, snorting with laughter. “Connor, I asked you less than an _hour_ ago if this was going to be a problem, and you promised me it wouldn’t. _Necking_ in the middle of the precinct is a problem.”

It only took Connor 0.0056 seconds to search this particular slang. The results made him hesitate, an amount unnoticeable to humans, and he filed his immediate reaction away for later to focus on correcting Hank.

“I assure you, Lieutenant, that is not what happened.”

“Oh yeah? Then what did?”

Connor’s processors hesitated again — he saw a couple of options outlining possible paths: tell the truth, lie, deflect, but he struggled to decide how to proceed. He _wanted_ to keep this private for some reason, at least until he finished sorting through his analysis and thoughts, but he knew Hank might have some insight to offer, as he always seemed to know how to explain what Connor _felt_ since his deviancy.

_Truth._

“She kissed my cheek, as thanks for the computer.”

Hank nodded slowly but didn’t show any other reaction. “So that’s her lip gloss.”

“Yes.”

“And you put it in your mouth.”

“Yes.”

“Connor you’re fucking weird.”

_Yellow…_ His LED blinked yellow, reflecting off the car window. Connor was… confused — if Hank was right earlier, and they’d been ‘necking’ in the police station, he’d have a lot more than her lip gloss in his mouth. The thought sent a soft shock through his wires, but Connor didn’t feel like pointing this particular fallacy out to Hank. Instead, he stopped speaking, choosing to simulate the feeling of her lips against his cheek, and re-running the ingredients analysis for the residue they’d left.

 

Their trip to Jerico was a dead end — not entirely a waste of a day, as Connor noted they’d finished mapping out androids who had direct contact with all known victims and could now safely say that none had passed on the virus before shutting down. Markus seemed pleased, hopeful that this would signal the end, and although they didn’t speak about it, Connor knew Hank shared his sentiment that this didn’t mark the end of anything — this case wouldn’t wrap up so easily.

 

Snow crunched under the tires when Hank’s car pulled into the driveway, and he switched the engine off. Connor followed the grumbling lieutenant inside, pausing to carefully step out of his shoes and hang the bomber jacket in its spot on the third hook from the left, before crouching to pet Sumo.

Hank ambled off to take a shower and get ready for bed while Connor led Sumo to the kitchen, measured out his dog food, and placed the bowl on the ground to a grateful _boof._ Then there was nothing to do but listen to the sound of the shower running, and Sumo’s slobbering crunching. 

Early into their arrangement, Hank instructed Connor not to clean up after him, stating it felt like he’d _‘bought himself a damn cleaning android’_ and Connor had listened, mostly. Occasionally, he still picked up some of the trash lying around and alphabetized Hank’s records while he wasn’t looking, but as Connor analyzed the kitchen and living room, he didn’t see anything that required his immediate attention — Hank hadn’t been home enough to make a mess.

So Connor sat, slowly, onto the middle of Hank’s couch, and listened to the lieutenant’s bedroom door shut. Typically, Connor would then lay down and initiate low-power mode until it was time to go to work the next day, but he didn’t feel like doing that tonight.

He had other things on his mind.

Namely, something he’d noticed multiple times, but kept pushing it away for later, knowing that privacy was a big thing for humans, probably more so for humans who cared enough about it to try and extend that same courtesy for androids. But Connor couldn’t help himself anymore — He was built to be an analytical model, after all, and he needed to know, needed to understand.

With his eyes closed, Connor pulled up CyberLife’s employee directory, searching for her name. He found it in a directory updated two months ago, but it didn’t have any information besides her company email address. Which was…strange?

Something about this didn’t add up. Connor hesitated for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him and he tried to force into CyberLife’s servers. His connection to the zen garden, and therefore his way to report was severed, but he attempted it anyway, pushing into the familiar channel as if re-entering an old home. But there the road ended, the path didn’t connect to anything anymore. Connor supposed that should have been comforting — CyberLife couldn’t use that connection either — but he only felt frustrated.

_She probably tried to search for a new job,_ he realized, and ran a search, finding her resume. However, the CyberLife section under “Employment History” didn’t list her position, only vague phrases like: ‘maintenance of androids,’ ‘software updates,’ and ‘quality control.’

But if she’d just been a repair technician, why didn’t she tell them?

He ran through their interactions, trying to see if this fit when his processors stuttered on that memory again — the moment her lips brushed his cheek. 

 

**// Sync In Progress…**

**// Processing Data…**

**// Substance ???: Diisostearyl Malate, Polyglyceryl-2, Triisosterate, Hydrogenated Polyisobutene, Silica Dimethyl Silyate, Prunus Amygdalus Dulcis (Sweet Almond) Oil, Calendula Officinalis Flower Oil, Rose Flower Oil…**

 

But what if he wasn’t licking the lip gloss from his fingers? What if he’d turned his head to the side just as she’d neared and sampled it right from the source? Connor’s processors reconstructed the scene with this in mind: her hand coming up to meet his, palms and fingers pressing flush together as they —

Connor opened his eyes, breaking out of his search and memories. After a moment of consideration, he called up her contact information in his communications program.

_“How is the virus blocker coming?”_ Connor sent.

_“It’s okay… not done yet. Sorry.”_

_“You don’t need to apologize.”_

A couple of moments passed before the next message: _“Did everything go ok at Jerico?”_

_“No more infected androids. Markus thinks this is the end.”_

_“You don’t?”_

Connor’s brow furrowed — of course, she noticed that. _“No… although I wish it were that easy.”_

_“I’ll keep working on the virus blocker.”_

_“Sorry, am I distracting you?”_

The ‘read’ flag appeared immediately, but as seconds trickled into minutes, Connor felt the urge to pull out his coin and start fiddling with it. He wished he could see her face, wondered what it looked like right now.

_“You do, but that’s okay.”_

What on earth was Connor supposed to think about _that?_ His LED stuttered yellow, casting a glow over the otherwise dark living room as his processors whirred, trying to dissect her reply. Distracting was… bad as Connor understood it — it kept one from a goal, interrupted them. So why was she saying it was okay? _She’s probably being polite,_ Connor settled on and sent his reply accordingly.

_“You don’t have to be polite. I can leave you to your work if you’d prefer.”_

The next message came much faster this time: _“No, I meant I like it.”_

_Red._ Connor’s LED skipped yellow and bled straight to red this time, as he stiffened on the couch, artificial breathing program stopped. He didn’t need to, but he reread what she wrote. After a short moment, Connor realized he hadn’t replied yet.

_“I’ll be sure to keep distracting you then.”_

When she didn’t send anything right away, Connor sent another message: _“Did you know your lip gloss contains over 20 ingredients, not including dyes?”_

_“???”_

Connor realized a little too late he probably shouldn’t have sent that. Hank seemed creeped out, but she’d said before that she didn’t mind his analysis. Connor had the sudden urge to hack into her phone and delete the messages — sure, she’d already seen them, but humans’ memories weren’t as accurate as androids’, maybe she’d forget.

_“Haha. Oh my god.”_

Tension Connor didn’t even realize he’d been holding in his posture released as he read the message. He sank into the sofa cushions, the flickers of alarm dissolving into nothingness.

_“I’m glad you liked that,”_ Connor replied honestly.

_“Lol yeah. What are you doing right now?”_

_“Sitting in Hank’s living room.”_

_“So… Nothing?”_

He hesitated. _“I can’t ever actually be doing nothing. I’m sitting, petting Hank’s dog, messaging you.”_

_“That sounds nice. I’m kinda jealous.”_

_“You could join me.”_

A full fifteen minutes passed before the next message came — fifteen minutes of Connor considering powering down just to settle the nervous energy thrumming through his system.

_“I don’t think Hank would like that lol.”_

_“Hank is asleep.”_

That apparently wasn’t the right thing for Connor to say, because although she read the message immediately, she took several more seconds to reply.

_“Connor… did you want to see me?”_

_“Yes.”_

His system sent the message so quickly he didn’t have time to consider the other options his social relations software offered. Again, the text was read instantly, and he saw the ‘typing’ icon pop up several times, blip away, then reappear again before she sent her reply.

_“You could come over if you want? Help with the virus blocker?”_

Connor frowned. For some reason, he didn’t feel like working, but he knew humans needed their sleep, and it was likely she’d stay up late to finish the program — far later than she should.

He called for an autonomous taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC: Did you want to come over?  
> Connor: I can’t, Hank’s asleep.  
> MC: My parents aren’t home.  
> Connor *already hacking a taxi to ignore the speed limit*


	12. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you have been following the chapter naming patterns probably guessed what this one would be.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CHANGES THE RATING. NSFW AHEAD.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to RK800Downloading who looked over most of this chapter for me because it's almost 4k words and turned into a bit of a monster.

It was a small blessing that Hank’s house was a 16 minute drive away from your apartment — ample time to shove all the embarrassing clutter in your closet, put out clean towels (Why? It wasn’t like Connor would use the bathroom like other surprise guests), fix your hair, change out of your pajamas and into some nicer loungewear, and as a last-minute decision, re-apply the colored lip gloss generally reserved for going out.

_Is this silly? I feel silly,_ you thought, shifting side-to-side in front of the bathroom mirror, with colored lips and loungewear too expensive to ever actually be worn to sleep. With a twinge of regret, you remembered that Connor had already seen you in your comfy (albeit ratty) pajamas and bed-head when Hank brought him for repairs two nights ago.

You didn’t get any more time to think about it, however, as a rhythmic knocking startled you from your thoughts. After a last deep breath to calm your nerves, you pulled the chain from the lock and cracked the door open.

_Oh,_ you couldn’t stop yourself from holding your breath. Snow dusted Connor’s dark hair and eyelashes, and he was rolling that coin on his knuckles again, eyes flicking up from the flashing silver to meet yours. 

He didn’t say anything, only pocketed the coin, quirked his face into an almost-smile, and stepped inside, gaze darting first to your lips, then pointedly around your apartment, probably scanning and cataloging everything. You gave a quick ‘thanks’ to whatever blessing allowed you time to tidy before he’d arrived. A moment passed, then two, before either of you moved or spoke — you broke first, chewing the inside of your cheek, unable to stand the jittering racing through your nerves. _You invited him here,_ your mind offered unhelpfully, _do something._

_“_ Did you, um, want to sit?” You asked.

Connor’s gaze returned to you, and when your heart beat a little faster, he smiled, all brown eyes and warmth — your body didn’t know whether to relax into that warmth or tremble and flush from the anxiety that came with it.

Both happened.

Connor’s smile widened a fraction, and he tilted his head in your direction before you cleared your throat, trying to reclaim some semblance of dignity. Was he _enjoying_ this? Possibly teasing you on purpose? Every instinct you had screamed that he was, but the nervousness won over in the end, and you turned away from him to retrieve your computer.

That’s what he was here for, right?

Once you’d sat on the couch with your legs crossed and the computer on your lap, you patted the next empty cushion. You swore Connor's shoulders slumped a bit, but he immediately followed, settling in and peering over the screen, smile now gone. With only a slight shift, he leaned closer to you, body brushing yours, as he peeled back the synthetic skin on his hand and placed it over the computer on your lap. You stiffened, feeling the gentle pressure as his hard shoulder bumped against yours. 

_Calm down,_ you thought, gritting your teeth, _He's barely even touching you — don't_ _overreact._

Eager for a distraction, you threw yourself wholeheartedly into observing the screen his bare hand rested against. Lines of code scrolled furiously, blinking in your vision, too quickly for any human to follow. Then, Connor’s brow furrowed and the flashing slowed to a crawl, as small chunks erased then rewrote themselves, new pieces added, flickering between what you’d worked on for the past 12 hours.

He was fixing the virus blocker.

Fascinated, you watched the new bits and variables bloom to life, inserting themselves into the program you’d struggled over, repairing the small errors and bridging the gaps you’d failed to close yourself. You didn’t realize how utterly transfixed you were until the screen froze, and you glanced up to see Connor’s face only inches from yours, his brown eyes watching you — watching your awe over his work.

Suddenly those eyes were all you saw, lit by the subtle glow of the computer screen and his stuttering yellow LED.

You weren’t sure who initiated, who leaned in — maybe you did, maybe he did, maybe you both closed the distance and met in the middle, but you didn’t _care._ Nothing mattered except the soft press of his firmer-than-human lips against yours, his cooling breath against your skin. The soft touch sent sparks through your core, all the way to the tips of your fingers, in a way that caused your body to shiver.

_Oh._

Whether only seconds or minutes passed before you finally broke away, you sighed against his mouth as if letting loose a breath and by extension, all the tension you’d been holding. When your eyes fluttered open, Connor’s tongue darted out, and he licked the lip gloss residue off his mouth.

_Oh…_

You couldn’t help yourself — you flushed violently, uncontrollably, without warning. Were you grateful you’d thought to reapply the lip-gloss, or mortified? Connor didn’t seem to care as his LED flashed yellow again, processing. In fact, he seemed _pleased,_ something that only caused your cheeks to heat further.

“I was right, then,” He said suddenly.

Your mouth felt dry, so dry. “Right about what?”

“Your attraction to me,” He replied simply, leaning forward again minutely, enough that you mirrored him without thinking, “You’ve been exhibiting signs for _days_ — dilated pupils, increased heart rate, flushed skin.”

Each time he listed something, his eyes flicked over the corresponding part of your body, undoubtedly eliciting the same response yet again.

“And what about you?” You managed to whisper past the tightness in your throat, the anxiety that threatened to consume you, “Are you…”

“It seems so,” Connor murmured.

As if those words broke a dam, warmth flooded your heart, bleeding into the rest of your body. _I didn't imagine it — He really feels the same,_ you realized. Connor’s LED blinked yellow, analyzing yet again, as he glanced down at your chest, where your heart thudded against your ribs. His fingertips brushed your sternum, causing another stutter. The smallest trace of a smile tugged at his lips.

Much slower this time, Connor brought his face towards yours again, pausing when your mouths were only a centimeter apart as if testing you, seeing if you’d pull away. Instead, you surged forward and captured his lips in yours. The computer slipped off your lap, but Connor caught it and set it aside without breaking away from you. Eagerly, he took your bottom lip into his mouth, kissing you dizzy, until you had to pull back with a gasp, chest heaving.

“Do you—Are we really…”

_Are we really doing this?_

You struggled to articulate with his half-lidded eyes staring at you like that. Black static crept across the scene as you tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. What even was ‘ _this’_ — making out on the couch? More? Connor didn’t seem to be listening, moving a hand up to brush your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb as he watched you catch your breath. You brought a hand up to cup over his, and his movement stilled.

_I guess we are._

You crashed against each other this time, meeting in the middle in a tangle of thudding hearts, mouths, and _curiosity_. Every few moments, you resurfaced, gasping for air — air that Connor didn’t need, so he’d continue, kissing along your jaw and neck as you willed the dizziness away and dived back into the intensity that was the android’s attention. 

Connor nipped at your neck, causing you to writhe when his tongue darted out against your hyper-sensitive flushed skin. _Fuck,_ you thought, sighing. Your fingers twitched at the base of his hairline, and suddenly Connor’s body tensed. Just as you realized your fingertips had brushed hard plastic — his synthetic skin dissolving under your touch — you were yanked forward so that you straddled Connor’s lap faster than you thought possible.

You let loose a yelp of surprise as you took in the sight Connor’s hands digging into the sides of your hips. Connor froze and blinked back at you.

“Sorry…I—Should I stop?” He whispered, mortified.

“No!” You said quickly — probably too quickly, and cupped his face in your hands, feeling the heat burn over your skin. “Please don’t,” You tried again, this time softer as you slowly pressed your lips back to his, “You just surprised me.”

Connor replied between your kisses, “I’ll…try to go slower.”

_God,_ you felt that warmth blossoming again at his concern, and you nodded while he took one of your hands from his cheek. Connor moved with you, guiding your hand up with his, pressing the palms and fingertips flat against each other, perfectly aligned, until Connor’s synthetic skin vanished in glittering blue, revealing the lights and plating underneath. The glow grew brighter as you watched, electricity humming against your fingertips. Your chest clenched painfully when you recognized what your hands mimicked — something you'd seen Markus do as he kissed his lover at gunpoint on national television.

Without warning, Connor pulled you back in, lips and tongue drawing from your mouth, down your jaw, throat, collarbone. Both of you kept your hands flushed together — Connor pushing with thrumming currents and you with your strength. Your skin tingled everywhere he touched, begging for more. Frantically, you returned his kisses whenever you could, gasping for air and clutching him tightly when you couldn’t, but nothing was stemming the tide of _want_ building — Connors ministrations only made you burn _hotter,_ whine more desperately, needing _more._

As your fingers curled against the back of his neck again, Connor's hand twitched, and two vague memories worked their way back into your mind — how he’d jerked when you repaired the damage from the Traci, and how he’d yanked you closer just moments ago when you touched the spot. Experimentally, you pressed the tips of your fingers against that plate, the same one you’d replaced, and Connor _shuddered._

_Oh fuck,_ you thought, blinking.

The ache between your legs grew as his lips trailed down your jaw again, sucking at your neck, and you ground against him, needing him to pull you tighter, to feel him move like that once more. So you pushed harder with your free hand until Connor's skin dissolved, and you felt the hard shell under your fingers, unable to ignore the thrill that coursed through you when his whole body responded.

“I—” Connor started to speak, but his voice broke to static when you tried pressing harder into the plastic, “What are you…”

“Open for me,” You whispered against his ear, trying to seem calm although your heart raced, beating faster each time Connor twitched beneath you.

With a quiet _click,_ the plate slid away, and you took a breath to steady yourself before reaching inside.

Your fascination with androids, with Kamski’s first prototypes, pushed you to go to school and study them — to study programming languages and android hardware, to seek that internship at CyberLife, to build, test, and _learn_ everything you could about them. Androids were ethereal, something you could only dream of as a child, and then they were real, something you could devote your life to trying to understand.

But no amount of time dedicated to studying and practicing could have prepared you for Connor’s wrecked moan when you pushed two fingers inside the gaps between his wiring and caressed the edge of the data port to his neural network.

His entire body jerked. Connor's hand on your lower back clenched a fistful of your shirt, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The entire time, your paired hands remained flushed together — palm to palm and fingers to fingers — as his glowing joints brightened, and you pushed back against him firmly, mirroring his pressure. 

“Do you—” _Fuck there was no eloquent way to say this,_ you thought, struggling to even form complete sentences through the haze of desire. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

Connor honest-to-god vibrated beneath you, and you saw his brown eyes swimming with carefully-controlled restraint as he glanced from your parted lips, to your chest where your heart pounded, to your eyes that only saw him.

“Yes. I—Please?”

Connor’s thrumming current pushed against your hand again. You smiled and pushed back, keeping your fingers straight and aligned with his — flesh against hard white chassis. You moved your fingers in-between his, intertwining them as you slipped off his lap and tugged on his arm until he got up and followed you.

Trembling with nerves and excitement, you bit your lip and closed the bedroom door behind you. Reluctantly, you slipped your fingers from his and took a deep breath to steady yourself. Connor frowned at the loss of contact and reached for you again, brushing your sides as you averted your gaze, face burning, while he stared at you, eyes filled with concern.

_Fuck it._

With newfound courage, you grasped the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, shrugging your shoulders to let it fall to the floor. You hooked your thumb over the waistband of your pants and shimmied out of those as well. When you looked back at Connor, heart hammering wildly, his LED was spinning yellow, yellow, yellow, as his widened eyes roamed over your bare skin. Resisting the urge to tremble under his gaze, you approached and pushed his jacket off his shoulders. You stopped once your fingers reached the buttons on his shirt.

“Is this okay? Can I—”

Connor’s hand came to rest over yours as he nodded, and your two pairs of hands fumbled over each other to unbutton his shirt, then jeans, before he stripped them off and let them join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Just as he showed you earlier, you guided Connor’s hand to press against yours — palm to palm, fingers to fingers, before pushing him back onto the bed and climbing on after him.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” Connor observed as his other hand slid up your chest, resting between your breasts.

Shivering from his cold fingers against your flushed skin, you whispered, “Sorry, I’m nervous.”

“Me too,” Connor admitted quietly.

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning in slowly to kiss his lips softly, much gentler than the heated ones from the couch. Connor always seemed so sure, so confident — but tonight you’d have to take care of each other.

You wouldn’t want it any other way.

His body brushed against yours as he drew you down for another kiss, tongue darting out to lick your lips as his other hand returned to rest over your heart, no doubt feeling it speed up yet again. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss and flipped your positions, so that your back pressed into the mattress and he hovered above you. With a faint smile against his mouth, you let your fingers trail up his spine to his neck and brushed his still-open chassis.

Connor shuddered and kissed you harder, moving down to your collarbone when you broke away with a gasp, struggling to breathe. The heat was back, washing over your skin where his lips touched and coiling in your gut as you reached your fingers inside his shell, brushing the port, causing him to jerk.

“You’ll…” You broke off, groaning as Connor sucked the skin at your neck, “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

Connor withdrew just enough so that the tips of your noses brushed as he stared back at you, eyes swimming with desire. “I trust you,” He whispered.

That was all you needed — You curled your fingers deeper inside the warm port, eliciting another staticky noise from Connor. Humming in satisfaction, you kissed him again. Connor pressed your joined hands into the mattress, laying his flat on top of yours as he supported himself, to leave his other hand free to snake around your back and unclasp your bra. Between shudders, he tugged the straps from your shoulders and tossed it aside. His mouth left yours and you swore you saw the corner of his lips quirk up into a smirk before he moved down and took one of your nipples between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck—” You breathed, fingers stilling between the wires of his neck.

Shocks traveled from your chest to your gut as his tongue teased you, causing your back to arch off the sheets when he sucked at your flesh. A whine escaped your lips as he released your nipple and moved to the other one, fueling the heat that burned between your legs. You shuddered uncontrollably, rocking your hips against him. Connor’s lips made a wet noise when he let go, and you quickly recaptured them in a kiss, pushing two of your fingers deeper into his neck, causing him to groan into your mouth.

Encouraged, you explored further, caressing the surrounding wires with your thumb as Connor shuddered, huffing breaths you knew were meant to cool his system, but still caused the waves of desire to build when they brushed your skin. Connor was ethereal, perfect skin glittering as he stifled staticky noises into your lips, hair, throat. You probed deeper, feeling him, careful not to damage any of his wires you’d recently repaired, but adamantly chasing the touches that made him react like this — made him climb higher, joints casting a blue glow over the otherwise dark bedroom.

Heat radiated off Connor’s synthetic skin as he moved over you, trailing his hand down from your chest to the hem of your panties, hooking a thumb over the edge and tugging them down your legs. You hitched a breath as he kissed your neck again, and his fingers traced up the inside of your thigh. His cool fingertips against your burning skin made you tremble, shaking beneath him as he brushed over your entrance. Your body throbbed, want coiling between your thighs, and you curled your fingers into Connor’s wires, relishing the way they almost burned your skin.

“Please,” You whispered, unable to stop the breathy plea from tumbling from your lips, “I need you.”

Connor shuddered at your words and slipped a finger inside. You moaned, arching into his touch as he slid a second finger in, and shocks of pleasure raced up your spine. Biting back a curse, you gripped him harder, sweaty fingers slipping against the heated wiring of his neck. Then your mouth was on his again, biting, kissing, gasping, as you gripped each other tighter, needing _more_. 

_Please,_ you wanted to beg again, but held back, pushing deeper into the port of his neck to make him writhe, grind against your body. Connor mimicked you, adding a third finger, and curling deeper, almost as if he could reach up and grasp the heat building in your hips, burning you from the inside out. You wanted — no — _needed_ him to break it. Black spots encroached on the edges of your vision as you gasped, writhing against his touch.

Could you make him feel what you felt? Did he want to come apart in your arms just as you wanted to in his?

You didn’t know, but you would be damned if you didn’t try.

With newfound vigor, fueled by the waves of pleasure burning in your core, and the desire to see Connor feel the same, you captured his lips between yours and snaked your hand into his mess of wires and thirium network, tangling your fingers between them before thrusting your fingers down his data port again, pressing as deeply as you could.

His entire body vibrated, and he gave a choked static-filled cry. The parts of him tangled around your fingers burned hot, hotter than comfortable, but they thrummed with electricity that sent shocks through your wrist, down your arms, as the blue lights from the opening danced across the ceiling.

You only had a moment to watch in awe before Connor mirrored your intensity, thrusting hard inside you, his hands trembling with the same vibrations of pleasure that wracked his whole body — waves that transferred to his fingers curled inside you.

_Oh,_ you cried out uncontrollably as well, head thrown back onto the pillow as the pressure in your stomach built and built and built and _broke._ You writhed and shook, unable to do anything but clutch at Connor as heat poured between your bodies. 

Sighing, you let your eyes drift shut. Then Connor stilled unnaturally, collapsing forward onto you, LED blinking a muted red as he entered standby. You panted, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath again. Slowly, you untangled your fingers from Connor’s wires and withdrew your hand, letting his shell slide back into place. For a few moments, you laid against the sheets, sighing contentedly and running your fingers through his brown hair while Connor’s LED continued to circle slowly. After you felt his body cool down enough, you pressed two fingers to his LED just as you did before.

“Connor?” You called softly.

He didn’t respond right away, so you continued running your fingers through his hair and stared at the ceiling as the ache between your legs ebbed. A few more moments passed before his LED shifted to blue and his eyes blinked open.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“I know,” You murmured reassuringly, “Low power mode?”

Connor nodded. Your lips twitched uncontrollably when you averted your gaze. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, gentle and hesitant. When he broke away, he moved off you but let one of his arms drape around your waist. A sudden rush of cold air washed over the skin he’d been laying on, and you shivered as you realized how much of your body was coated in sweat, not to mention the mess between your legs. _Ugh,_ you thought, noting the wet spot on the sheets. You sat up and slowly crawled off the bed, but you didn’t get far before Connor’s hand darted out and grabbed your wrist.

“Where are you going?” He asked, LED blinking yellow.

“I have to shower.”

“Can I—” Connor hesitated, head tilted to the side, “Can I come with you?”

Your heart swelled, and you somehow managed to answer past the tightness in your throat, “Sure.”

Connor’s fingers intertwined with yours as he followed you to the bathroom, not saying another word as he turned on the shower-head, testing the water with his fingers before stepping aside to let you in. You closed your eyes and let the hot water rush over your skin, washing away your sweat and easing the tension in your muscles. Behind you, Connor untangled his fingers, and you heard the pop of the cap to your shampoo, before his fingers threaded through your hair, kneading your scalp. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch with a pleased hum.

Neither of you spoke as Connor rinsed your hair, or when his fingers trailed over your skin under the hot water, or when he grabbed one of the clean towels and slowly dried off your legs, then arms, then hair, before taking your hand in his and leading you back to bed.

You collapsed onto the mattress, and Connor laid next to you, pulling the comforter over both of your bodies as you curled into his side. Lost in your thoughts, you pressed your cheek into the side of his chest, feeling the thrum of his biocomponents. His fingers carded through your hair again, petting your head as your eyes slowly drifted shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Why are you doing that to my neck?  
> MC: If you thought CyberLife technicians weren't into wire play, you'd be wrong.
> 
> WellThatEscalatedQuickly.png


	13. Collapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting for this chapter for a very long time. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who leaves a kudos or comment — I read every single one of them and some of them make me laugh, some of them make me smile, but they all mean a lot to me and keep me going.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you finally woke up, blinking slowly against the sleepy haze weighing down your eyelids. But you grew aware of something — something that gradually dawned on you as the last vestiges of sleep trickled from your mind.

It was the first night you’d slept peacefully in God only knows how long — No sterile white platforms, no suspended androids, no blinking red LEDs.

No nightmares.

Something heavy and warm rested over your waist, heavier than your blanket, and you nuzzled into that warmth, pressing your slightly-numb cheek into it as the darkened bedroom greeted you, broken only by the soft blue glow of Connor’s LED. You opened your eyes all the way, and a minuscule flash of yellow broke through as Connor stared at you.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” You echoed.

You were wide awake now, your mind quickly reconstructing all that happened and throwing it behind your eyes in stark quality. You tensed, heart rate picking up, and Connor’s brown eyes flicked down again to analyze. His expression remained impassive, giving no clue as to what was going on in _his_ mind. Connor ended up breaking the silence first.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked softly.

_No nightmares,_ you thought, and simply nodded in a way you hoped didn’t give away your growing nervousness.

But you couldn’t stop the tremor in your hand that made your fingers twitch against his skin. Slowly, Connor’s fingers worked their way between yours. You calmed a bit after that, and judging from the smile that quirked at his lips, Connor noticed the effect his actions had on you.

_He noticed everything._

Your chest clenched, thoughts and heart stuttering at his watchful gaze that reminded you of his thoughtful gestures last night — hesitating between kisses to make sure you were okay, asking if you needed to slow down, and following you to the shower to wash your hair. It all felt like too much, too overwhelming, and you hid a hitched breath as a familiar tightness worked its way to your throat.

_Oh no,_ you thought, gritting your teeth, _we’re not going to mess this up by crying the morning after._

It didn’t matter that you clenched your jaw and forced yourself to remain calm. The moment you averted your gaze, Connor brought your joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your fingertips before caressing your cheek. Neither of you moved or said anything for a few moments, just stared at each other’s faces, bare bodies tangled in the sheets.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” He admitted quietly.

_Fuck._ You couldn’t help it. Your eyes widened, resolve breaking, and your lip trembled slightly as you tried to still your racing heart.

Connor’s LED immediately flickered yellow. “I’m sorry. I—“

You shook your head, _begging_ your breathing to stabilize, “No, Connor you didn’t do anything wrong,” You struggled to articulate what you wanted, no _needed,_ to say, “I just—I just don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?” You asked and saw his LED spinning yellow, flickers of red bleeding through. Connor looked _wrecked._

“Is that—Do you not believe me?”

Your chest clenched painfully, regret washing over you. “That’s not what I—I’m sorry, Connor.”

You didn’t know how else to express this mess of feelings swimming inside you, so you brought his hand up with yours and flattened your fingers and palms against each other, just as he showed you last night. Slowly, you pressed your hands together until his synthetic skin retracted in glittering blue, and you felt the familiar thrum of current against your skin. You couldn’t feed any data back, but you hoped Connor would understand.

“Connor, I—” You started, but cut off when his LED flashed yellow, and his eyes blinked, unfocused.

You watched silently as Connor's eyebrows twitched at whoever was on the other side of the connection, kicking yourself for whatever you’d been about to say. And what _had_ you been about to say? Something you couldn’t have taken back for sure, something you should have thought through further, something he might not be ready to hear. You were almost grateful to be interrupted, to stop yourself from laying bare a growing part of you that you couldn’t hide again.

Surely it was better to leave this unspoken. So why did it hurt?

“That was Markus,” Connor said once his LED swirled blue again, gaze back on you, “There’s an android at New Jerico that they think is infected.”

He gazed at you with this incredibly heart-stopping mix of anxiety, concern, and… regret? _Mostly regret,_ you decided, falling further into his desolate stare.

“We have to go, then,” You whispered, not asking, as your face quickly fell back to a concealing mask, and you felt those words that had just been on the tip of your tongue slipping back down into your heart and settling there, far away from being spoken aloud.

“…Yes, we do,” Connor agreed hesitantly.

You slowly nodded, and leaned forward, pressing your lips to Connor’s in a chaste kiss, before drawing away and slipping out of his grasp. He blinked in surprise, LED whirring a furious yellow as he no doubt buried himself in analyzing you.

You didn’t care. Instead, you forced yourself to ignore it and go get ready, steeling yourself to face the world outside of the haven of warmth that was your bedroom, and Connor, and gentle hands in your hair, and words of affection and trust whispered between sheets.

 

But somehow that haven of warmth followed you, curling in your core as Connor summoned an autonomous taxi at the curb of your apartment, gesturing for you to get in first. It followed you as his hand rested against yours on the leather seats. It followed you even as the taxi pulled up outside what you guessed was Hank’s house, and Connor’s body warmth left as he stepped out.

You watched silently from the cab as Connor held down the doorbell for a solid 15 seconds before the door yanked open, and Hank stood there in boxers and a blotchy, stained T-shirt. The lieutenant blinked in surprise, before rubbing his eyes and running a hand over his face. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but watched anyway — Connor seemed composed, and Hank flickered between exasperation, anger, then finally resignation as he retreated back inside and slammed the door in Connor’s face.

A couple of minutes later Hank came out again, this time fully dressed and patting his pockets. Connor’s fingers slipped into the ratty coat pocket and pulled out the keys, slotting them into the front door and locking it, before handing them back to Hank. When you stepped out of the taxi to follow the pair to Hank’s old car, he blinked at you in surprise.

“When the hell did you get here?”

_Oh, shit._

You bit your lip, nervousness pooling in your stomach as you realized you didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Connor spoke up.

“I picked her up first,” He said.

Hank balked at that, freezing with his hand on the driver door. “You _what?_ ”

“We need to get to New Jerico, Lieutenant,” Connor continued, opening the passenger door to let you climb into the back seat first. “Markus said they have the android contained, but it would be best if we hurried.”

Grumbling, Hank dropped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. “That’s a diversion if I ever heard one.”

His piercing blue eyes stared at you through the rearview mirror, before he sighed.

“Do I want to know where you were last night, Con?”

_No._

_Of course_ , it wouldn't escape Hank's notice that Connor left sometime last night — the two of them lived together, after all. You tried (and probably failed) to keep your face from revealing anything, as Hank’s eyes glanced at you again through the mirror. Connor didn’t answer Hank’s question, which just made him snort, but thankfully he turned his attention back to the road and didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. 

You didn’t speak either as the old car drove through the snow, instead staring at the back of Connor’s head, at the freckles on the back of his neck, right underneath his hair. Had those always been there? You’d never noticed them before, not when his synthetic skin there had dissolved away under your touch as you—

_No, stop it._ You shook your head, cheeks flushing as the memories from last night resurfaced. Stuffing them down, you sighed and relaxed into the car seat. _Later,_ you promised, _I’ll think about this later. Right now, we have work to do._

 

You weren’t sure what to expect from New Jerico, but after seeing the decrepit freighter on TV, almost anything would seem like an upgrade. At least this place had four walls and a roof. The run-down tenement reminded you of the first crime scene you’d visited with Hank and Connor, and for a moment the buildings overlapped in your memory — the New Jerico tenements and Wallace and Lily’s apartment both stretched up to the Detroit skyline with their grimy bricks and dirty windows, looking out of place in a city that had otherwise progressed around them. But it wasn’t the same building. You knew that. So why were you trembling with anticipation? Why were you so nervous?

Markus stood outside on the curb as Hank’s car rolled to a stop, hands folded in front of his zippered coat, flanked by three other androids — A WR400, PL600, and PJ500.

“Hello Connor, Lieutenant Anderson,” Markus greeted.

The android leader’s heterochromatic eyes turned to you, and you couldn’t help but clutch your computer bag a little tighter under his scrutiny. But there was something different in his gaze today, something _warmer._

“It’s nice to see you again,” Markus said, still looking at you, “Thank you for coming today.”

_Um, this is different…_ You thought, blinking in surprise, unable to muster up the courage to do more than smile and nod politely.

“Please, come inside.”

Markus led the three of you into the lobby, the other three androids following close behind. You glanced at them again, recognizing them as the same three that had flanked Markus during the peaceful protests in the streets and outside the camps. They didn’t say anything, just hovered close to the revolutionary as he led you, Connor, and Hank to the stairwell.

“We’ve kept her isolated from the other androids, just as you instructed, but we weren’t sure what else could be done,” Markus explained as he led the group up a series of stairs and into a poorly-lit, narrow hallway.

Although the inside of the building was just as run-down as the outside, you noted it was remarkably clean, not unlike the cleanliness of Lily and Wallace’s apartment — an observation which made your stomach clench with nervousness yet again.

“She's been developing a virus blocker,” Connor nodded at you, “Something that could help prevent the spread of the virus while we figure out who made this.”

Markus glanced back at you as well, and a gentle smile tugged at his features, “Is that so? That’s good news, thank you.”

“I’ve already downloaded it,” Connor said, “I’ll upload it for you before we leave.”

The WR400 scoffed at Connor’s words, and Markus’s eyes snapped to her. 

“North,” He said warningly.

“Markus, you can’t be serious,” She—North—huffed, crossing her arms, “We’re going to let humans mess with our programming again?”

_Oh, of course, it would seem like that,_ you thought, unable to stop the words from curling inside you and stirring your guilt. It must have shown on your face, because Connor’s brow furrowed in frustration, and he opened his mouth as if to argue with her, but you stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“She’s right,” you said, glancing at North.

The way her eyes widened told you that you'd exceeded her expectations of you — her expectations of humans. You couldn’t imagine what she’d seen, been through, but life couldn’t have been easy for a former Eden Club android. It couldn’t have been easy for any of them.

“I’ll give you the program, all the source code to look over. Then you can decide if you want to download it,” you told her.

North seemed pleased by that, her lips stretched minutely, into something that could just barely be called a grin. That warmth was back in Markus’s green and blue eyes as he nodded at you. He gestured at the closed door, unit #313.

“She’s in there,” Markus said, “We’ll be out here if you need anything. I understand the virus can make an android’s behavior… unpredictable.”

Hank snorted at that, and you could almost hear the words he didn’t say: _‘unpredictable, that’s a nice way to say homicidal.’_ But he just pulled his gun from his holster, nodding at Connor and you.

“Stay behind me,” Hank instructed.

When Hank shouldered the door open, you weren’t sure what to prepare for. The anticipation was making your heart pound like crazy, and you were sure your breaths were coming a little too fast, a little too shallow. What would be waiting behind the door — an android laying on the ground, skin retracted like Lily? An android who would seem fine until she snapped and choked you like Wallace? An android who would come back to herself only to pull a knife and attack Hank or Connor?

But what awaited you behind the door was none of these things.

Instead, the android — one you recognized as a model KL900, intended for social care and advanced integration with humans — stood straight, facing the door with her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Hello, Connor,” She said, in a voice like warm cocoa, “It’s good to see you again.”

Connor let loose a choked noise and _shivered,_ folding his arms in front of himself as if cold. Your eyes widened. You _knew_ that voice, but it wasn’t the stock voice of a KL900. Still shivering, Connor’s lips parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel the unease that had been building in you reach a peak. You’d never seen Connor like this — shaking, _terrified._ Before you knew what you were doing, your free hand wrapped around his arm, fingers curling into the sleeve of his jacket to anchor him and yourself. 

“Amanda…” Connor whispered.

_Amanda? But it can’t be,_ You thought, clutching Connor’s jacket tighter, feeling cold radiating off him through the fabric. You knew an Amanda, but she hadn’t been an android. It was too much of a coincidence, right? Her smile grew into something sinister that made you _and_ Connor shiver as she turned to lock eyes with you.

“It’s good to see both of you.”

_What the fuck?_ Connor’s brown eyes flicked to you, wider than you’d ever seen them before, almost begging you to do something, to say something — but what?

“Alright, what the fuck is going on here?” Hank growled, gun still trained on the KL900.

She ignored him and continued speaking to you, “I believe thanks are in order.”

“What—” You trailed off. Your mouth was dry, so dry. “What do you mean?”

“For all your hard work. We might not have been ready to accept it then, but over time we realized your findings were right, and were the key to fixing the problems we had with the first wave of androids.”

_My reports, my findings,_ your mind buzzed uncomfortably as you recalled your last several weeks at Cyberlife, _It can’t be the same Amanda._ You blinked as your vision was obscured by broad shoulders when Connor moved forward, placing himself between you and the android.

“This doesn’t involve her!” Connor nearly shouted, taking a step closer to the android, a step you took too as you weren’t ready to let go of his jacket.

“I’m afraid it does, Connor. Or rather, it did.”

Oh, you did _not_ like the way she said that. Your throat choked a bit and you peered out from behind Connor, unable to tear your eyes away from the android as she stared at you, unblinking. 

“Unfortunately, you’ve outlived your usefulness,” She continued, taking a step toward you, and so did Hank, keeping his gun trained on her, “In fact…” She took another step, “I believe you’re in our way.”

Everything happened so fast after that. 

Connor lunged at her just as a gunshot sounded, piercingly loud in such a small space. You didn’t have time to do anything, could only watch in horror as she suddenly shoved Connor, and the bullet ripped through his reinforced shell instead of hers. Hank faltered in shock, giving her just enough of a window to grab Hank’s gun and point it at you.

_No._

You dropped your computer bag as the gun went off again. You should have listened to the growing dread. You should have told Connor about your fears. You shouldn’t have come here. And then there was nothing but white-hot pain, burning through your core as everything dissolved into black static and muffled noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Wear a fucking scarf next time, Jesus Christ.  
> MC: ...  
> Hank: Do you not own concealer?  
> MC: ...  
> Hank: You do know what he puts in his mouth, right?  
> Connor: (:
> 
> Amanda: Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.


	14. Free-fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a huge round of applause to thirdtimesthecharm for fucking NAILING MC's previous position at CyberLife in the comments section last chapter. I hope you still enjoy this update even though you saw it coming.
> 
> I also want to thank you for your patience with these last few updates. I recently got a new position at work and have been completely swamped during the week doing overtime, and only have time to write on the weekends. I'm so sorry this chapter is a few days late, especially after the cliffhanger.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to anyone who leaves a kudos or comment. They mean so much to me when work gets too much.

You sat on the other side of the quality assurance manager’s desk, trying to not think of those two days you called in sick, the times you made mistakes, the reports you hadn’t double-checked. Your boss looked at you, smiling stiffly, and you didn’t know whether to smile back or throw up.

“We’re very impressed with you,” She finally announced, folding her hands together over a closed holo-pad and leaning in.

The next exchange passed in a blur. You remembered key phrases like “work ethic,” “attention to detail,” and “fit the company culture,” but nothing else. You were too busy buzzing excitedly and nodding, trying to seem enthusiastic but not _too_ eager — a careful balance you weren’t sure if you pulled off, but in the end, you walked out of your supervisor's office with a few details for your new position on your tablet and an excited fluttering in your heart.

The next day you met Amanda.

At 8 o'clock sharp, you rode the elevator down to level sub-48, Research and Development, and swiped your newly-upgraded ID over the bay door. Clutching your tablet to your chest, you hesitantly approached the center console. You knew what to expect: an AI faithfully created from the memory of Amanda Stern, a former professor at the University of Colbridge and Kamski’s mentor, but still faltered once you saw her.

Amanda didn’t have a body like the androids you were used to. She was just a projected image, draped in CyberLife’s white and blue, glowing slightly around the edges, emanating an air of power, authority, as her intense eyes tracked your movement. She greeted you by name, in a voice that sounded how hot cocoa tasted — a way you supposed should seem comforting, but instead made you feel nervous.

“Um…” you hesitated, unsure how to respond.

“You can talk to her, you know,” someone spoke up from behind you, and you whipped around to look at him, “In fact, that’s kind of important.”

“Um…” you said again — apparently you had left your charisma at home.

The man who spoke looked to be in his late 30’s, with light brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and black-rimmed glasses. He stood beside you and glanced up at the projection of Amanda, before extending his hand.

“I’m Jason, Jason Graff.”

Your eyes widened, but you shook his hand and introduced yourself before the moment passed. _Jason Graff, the director of the humanization department?_

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” He said, releasing your hand, “We’re happy to have you on board.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Graff.”

“None of that,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “We’re going to be working as a team — you can just call me Jason.”

“Alright… Jason.”

Jason showed you around the floor and let you set your bag down at your desk, where a shiny new terminal was already set up. He introduced you to the others who’d been promoted from various departments, but none that you knew from quality assurance.

But that was alright because you weren’t here to socialize. You were here to _work._

At first, you thought of Amanda as a simple personality simulation, not unlike those programmed in androids you worked with previously (probably a little more advanced, with some other minor differences as she was constructed from a specific human model), but she was so much more than that. She learned, adapted, and behaved unlike any android you had ever met.

You didn’t like it.

Something about Amanda, the way she spoke with you while you ran simulations and tests, the way she avoided your questions, then asked you questions… it didn't feel right. It made you feel like she was watching, analyzing, cataloging you, when you were supposed to be doing that to her.

Like you were the one under observation.

“She’s unsettling,” you answered truthfully when asked at the end of the day.

“Unsettling?” Jason stopped writing, stylus frozen centimeters from the surface of his tablet. “What do you mean?”

You immediately regretted admitting this, but Jason had said honesty was crucial to getting results, so you swallowed back your reservations, focusing on your conclusions regarding the Amanda AI.

“Her social protocols — the way she tries to get me to listen to her, obey her in the zen garden simulations — it’s obvious she’s manipulating me.”

The corner of Jason’s lips had twitched into a full-blown smile, and he leaned back in his desk chair, pushed his glasses up on his nose, before pointing the stylus at you and letting loose a chuckle.

“Now that,” He said, punctuating the words by wiggling the stylus, “ _that_ is why I need you here. No one besides us is focusing on the _human_ aspect of Amanda, no one else is talking about this — about her communication  _weaknesses.”_

Jason didn’t wait for you to reply as he cleared his throat and leaned in over the desk, the smile dropping off his face.

“Do you remember that I asked you to bring your experience from quality assurance with you?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, curious as to where he was going with this.

“I didn’t just mean what you learned,” Jason continued, “I read your weekly reports. You paid attention to the androids’ simulated reactions.”

You weren’t sure what kind of response Jason was looking for, but you’d never seen him this serious before, so you nodded simply, waiting for him to continue.

“CyberLife noticed a bug. We’re calling it deviancy — when an android develops an error in its code, a flaw in its personality matrix, and emulates human emotion.”

_Emulates human emotion?_ Your mind buzzed.

“But…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words, “I thought you—the humanization department was working towards that? Facilitating android integration?”

Jason blinked in surprise, and you swore you saw the flicker of dark amusement behind his eyes before he adjusted his glasses again and plastered a forced smile on his face.

“Unfortunately, I’m not talking about programmed responses.” Jason sighed and scratched his jaw. “This isn’t a YK500 crying, or a BL100 smiling lovingly. These are androids who aren’t following their programming anymore.”

_What?_ You stopped moving, breathing. That didn’t make sense — _couldn’t_ make sense _._ If they weren’t following programming, then how could they show emotion? What told them to smile or cry or be afraid if not code? Something else? Jason must have sensed your discomfort because he didn't wait for you to reply.

“That’s why Amanda is so important,” He finally explained, “We’re  implementing her to counteract these errors in an android’s personality software.”

“What do you mean?”

“Based on what we know about deviancy, this is the best chance to succeed in fixing the bug where previous patches have failed.”

You tried to conceal your shock. _‘Previous patches,’_ you repeated the words in your head. CyberLife _attempted_ to patch the emotional malfunctions and _failed._ CyberLife didn’t fail. They didn’t make faulty androids, they didn’t release secret patches, they didn’t fail to patch bugs and then have to develop an AI to counteract the errors.

Right?

After that first day, you began dreading the moment when the elevator stopped on floor sub-48. It was where deviant androids (brought in by their owners and returned to CyberLife) met with Amanda. She analyzed them, and you cataloged her interaction with the androids. You _hated_ it. You hated every time an android came in, looking hurt and confused, then had to just watch and take notes as Amanda _patronized_ them, tore them apart mentally, under the premise of learning about deviancy.

Immediately, it felt _wrong._

You started having nightmares — the faces, voices, of every android you observed with Amanda, stayed burned behind your lids when you laid in bed and closed your eyes. You’d see the androids, surrounded by white, suspended on the disassembly machines, as they shook in fear and asked you what was going to happen to them.

One day you couldn’t take it anymore. You reached floor sub-48 holding a triple-shot espresso in a hand that shook with fatigue, trying to blink away the weight that begged your eyes to shut, even for just another minute. On the way to your desk, your lead-laden feet tripped and stumbled, spilling the latte all over your jacket. _Fuck,_ you cursed, trying not to cry in frustration from the spreading stain, your exhaustion, all of it.

Not much later, Amanda finished with that day’s android — an AX400 who tried to run away from her owners after the missus caught her husband fucking the android's mouth and instead of confronting her husband, beat the android. The AX400 twitched quietly in the mechanical arms holding her up as you fixed the small cracks in her chassis. Your fingers brushed over the repaired areas, and her LED changed from its constant blinking red to yellow when she realized all the damage caused by her owner was gone — gone like it never happened.

_But it did happen,_ you thought angrily. You _knew_ she didn’t feel pain like humans did. She wouldn’t have bruises or a scar from where her owner struck her — she wouldn’t even remember the emotional pain once you initialized the deactivation. You were just about to enter the command when you glanced back up and saw her blue eyes staring at you expectantly, terrified.

At that moment, you realized you _couldn’t_ , not today. Before you second-guessed yourself, you flicked away the prompt to start the wipe, disengaged the locking mechanism holding the AX400 in place, and let her tiny body slip free. You felt your heart rate increase a little as you steered her out the doors and to the elevator. She didn’t say a word, only looked at you questioningly as you held your head high and tried to ignore the adrenaline racing through your veins as you led her outside, into the parking garage, and pulled her behind a vehicle.

“Come here,” You whispered, the words falling from your lips before you could think about what you were doing, “I’m going to remove your LED.”

She stood utterly frozen as you hooked a fingernail under the edge of her pulsing LED and pulled until it snapped off. Blinking, she looked back up at you, confusion coloring her pretty features.

“Change your hair color,” You instructed, watching brown hair transition to blonde, as you slipped out of the sleeves of your jacket and placed it around her shoulders, “You can have my jacket to cover up your uniform until you can find some new clothes. Now, go.”

“…Where?” She asked, terrified.

“I’m not sure, but you’re not the only one who’s experiencing this. There have to be more of you — find them.”

The AX400 nodded hesitantly as she slowly put on the jacket and buttoned it so that it covered her uniform. You couldn’t help but smile once she was done. No LED, blonde hair mussed, and no android identification markers? She looked just like any other person — she _was_ a person.

“I—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t,” You said sharply, too quickly, and when you saw the hurt and confusion flash across her face, you added, “Just, be safe.”

She nodded slowly, wide blue eyes trained on yours as you sighed and stepped away from her. A smile quirked the corners of her lips, one you _knew_ was genuine so you couldn’t help smiling back as you watched her turn away and leave. You didn’t want to go back inside, but you had to. With a sigh, you returned to the elevator, and rode down to sub-48, feeling lighter than you had this entire week.

 

_You knew what would happen next — Amanda would ask you how it went, and you’d lie. Silently, she’d glare at you, piercing gaze flashing over every inch of your body, eyes narrowing when you refused to offer up any more. You’d excuse yourself and return to your desk, back up all your CyberLife software onto your portable drive, and purchase a computer identical to your work one. You’d also buy some android tools — the ones you’d used to repair damaged androids when you worked in quality assurance and the AX400 today._

_You’d regret not asking her name._

_Jason would call you into his office, and you’d take a deep breath to steady yourself, before complying and calmly accepting his angry dismissal. You'd carry the cardboard box containing your desk belongings (personal effects only as all tech and tools needed to be relinquished back to CyberLife). The portable drive would weigh heavily in your pocket as you walked out of the tower for the last time._

_But that wasn’t what happened._

_When you returned to floor sub-48 this time, A KL900 stood motionless in place of Amanda’s projection. Garbed in Amanda’s usual flowing blue and white, with the fractured porcelain jewelry, she glared at you, just as Amanda had done before._

_“You’ve outlived your usefulness.” She took a step towards you, and you flinched when her steps made noise. “In fact, I believe you’re in our way.”_

_Wet blue splattered across your face, your eyes, as the first gunshot sounded, and although you couldn’t see him, you knew whose blood it was. But before you could scream, the second shot sounded, and you collapsed, entire body burning in pain._

_“Connor?” You whimpered, afraid to look at your sticky fingers._

_Instead, you glanced forward, at the pool of blue slowly spreading to meet the crimson from your own body, coloring the white floors of sub-48. But where was he? You tried to call out to him again as the room faded to black._

 

“Connor?”

You struggled to blink open your eyes again, wincing once you realized the side of your abdomen ached worse than it ever had before _._ Every inch of your body felt so _heavy_ , as if someone or something was on top of you, pushing you into the mattress, but all you felt was a scratchy blanket, too light to trap you down like this, a slight soreness in the crook of your arm, and a warm hand resting over yours.

Experimentally, you twitched your fingers, feeling the hand on top of them squeeze in response. You opened your eyes.

A steady beeping sounded in the small room, relatively quiet, but still too loud to be comfortable. Your gaze trailed up to the offending machine, and you saw a couple wires running from the monitor and an IV stuck into your arm. The heaviness weighing on your body didn’t go away, but you sighed in relief when your eyes met Connor’s brown ones. His LED shifted from a steady red to cycling yellow as he brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, running your fingers over his flashing LED, then cheek.

Connor’s eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to reply just as a loud bark of laughter sounded from your right. You slowly turned your head and saw Hank leaning back in a plastic hospital chair with his arms crossed.

“You’re the one who needed nano-stitching, and your first instinct is to ask about him?” Hank snorted, “You’ve got it bad, kid.”

Hesitantly, you ran your fingers over the hole on the right side of Connor’s chest, resting your palm over the lights that flickered from inside.

“You got shot…” You murmured, frowning.

“So did you," Connor replied.

“Why didn’t you get repaired?”

“He wouldn’t let them,” Hank chimed in, sounding amused, “You must have done a really great job last time.”

“Hank,” Connor said warningly.

You sighed, still frowning, as Connor peeled your hand from his torn jacket and intertwined his fingers with yours, synthetic skin retracting in glittering blue.

“As much as I’d love to ask about…” Hank cleared his throat and gestured at your joined hands that rested on the white hospital blanket, “all of _that,_ we’ve got more important things to talk about.”

Connor’s expression immediately grew severe, and he shot the lieutenant another warning look, but Hank didn’t back down.

“Look, up until now we’ve respected your privacy since it made you uncomfortable, but it’s time to start talking. What the hell did you do at CyberLife?”

“Hank, maybe now isn’t the best—”

“I started in quality assurance,” you interrupted Connor’s protests, and he fell silent, letting you continue. “I ran simulations and tested androids before they were released to the CyberLife stores for sale, or when they were returned.”

“Then how did you know Amanda?” Connor asked quietly, a flicker of red blinking into his cycling LED.

You hesitated, heart clenching at his pained expression. Whatever experience he’d had with Amanda was clearly _not_ a pleasant one — not that you supposed it could be, when you remembered how she’d treated those other androids on floor sub-48, what she’d been designed to _do. I’m sorry,_ you wanted to say, meeting his sad brown eyes with your own.

“She was the reason I was fired,” you finally answered, unable to tear your gaze from Connor.

“You’re gonna have to elaborate, kid.”

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t take it anymore,” you admitted quietly, “I got promoted to the project. We were researching deviancy. She’d finished questioning a deviant android, and I was supposed to deactivate her… I couldn’t. I helped her escape. Amanda knew right away and reported me to my boss. They fired me.”

Connor’s eyes were the widest you’d ever seen them, looking at you in shock. “You must have known you’d lose your job.”

You nodded slowly, unable to form words under his intense stare.

“How do we know she’s telling the truth?” Hank sighed, “Amanda was designed to control you, right Con?”

“She _what?!”_ You bit back the rising panic as Connor shifted uneasily in his seat, fingers twitching nervously between yours.

“Amanda was my handler. I reported to her during the deviancy investigation, and she said—” he fell silent, LED whirring a furious yellow, yellow, _red_ , “Amanda said that I was _supposed_ to deviate, for her to resume control of my program.” Connor finally met your eyes again, and his expression softened somewhat — not enough, but a little. “But she’s not lying, Hank. Her employment contract was terminated a week before I joined the DPD.”

When Hank didn’t respond to this, Connor continued, “Also, I think Amanda’s reaction to seeing her again says enough — she would have hit something vital if we hadn’t thrown off her aim.”

You sighed and leaned your head back against the hospital pillows, not sure whether to feel relieved that Connor didn’t seem to hold your time at CyberLife against you, or overwhelmed by these new developments. You bit your lip, lost in your thoughts as your side gave another painful twinge, causing you to wince. Connor’s grip tightened minutely.

“Thank you.” You murmured, a grin teasing the edge of your lips when he did that.

Connor simply nodded, LED still a steady yellow, and you couldn’t stop the worry that twisted in your gut again. You’d been lucky this time — They’d been able to stitch you up, and the bullet that hit Connor missed his biocomponents. Even though you felt yourself eagerly sinking into the warmth that was Connor’s affectionate concern, and the relief that he was okay, there was the dark thought reminding you that you couldn’t stay this lucky forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Jesus Connor, don’t you need to get repaired?  
> Connor *remembering the last time someone stuck their hands in his wires*: Um, I don’t think my girlfriend would like that.  
> Hank: But...  
> Connor: I'm here for a good time not a long time.


	15. Unspoken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I jinxed myself with my notes the previous chapter — last weekend I got incredibly sick, and although I still managed to write around 3k words, it was all a hot garbage fire because I didn't feel well, and it will probably never see the light of day.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to anyone who leaves a kudos or a comment as I read all of them. The funny ones make me laugh, and the kind ones make me smile, but they all make me glad to write content y'all can enjoy.
> 
> WARNING: More NSFW ahead

“You really don’t have to do this right now,” Connor said, for what must have been the third time, “In fact, you should probably be resting.”

You sighed as you had each time he’d said these words, before replying, “Connor, you’ve waited long enough to get this fixed. I’m doing it now.”

When he didn’t say anything more, you returned to the task at hand, watching Connor methodically shrug out of his ripped bomber jacket, then his white button-down. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing his slender chest and arms, and you tried not to stare too obviously as he carefully folded the jacket and shirt, before glancing up at you, a small furrow in his brow.

“I suppose I’ll have to replace these now,” Connor muttered, seemingly amused as he realized he’d just carefully folded ruined clothes.

“I suppose so.”

Your fingers drifted forward, up his torso, up to the small bullet hole in his chassis. The synthetic skin surrounding it was gone, unable to retract over the damaged area, leaving a little space of porcelain plating between Connor’s soft skin and the hole punched through his chest. Soft blue lights pulsed through the gap, blinking as Connor’s systems thrummed under your gentle touch. Any thirium from the gunshot had long since evaporated, both around his wound and inside, but you could almost see the blue spray, stark against his white chest plating and your skin.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, words tumbling from your lips before you even thought to say them.

“It’s not your fault.”

Somehow, that wasn’t enough, so you continued, “She shot you, Connor…”

“Amanda shot you too.” Connor’s warm brown eyes watched you as he brought his hand up to meet your tracing fingers, clutching them between his own, and a troubled look flashed across his face. “I should have protected you… I failed.”

“Hey,” you said, grip tightening on Connor’s fingers as his LED spun yellow, “You were shot first and _still_ managed to throw off her aim.”

Blinking, Connor stared at you. “But you’re the one who feels pain. Amanda may have missed anything vital, but you bled so much and I…”

Connor’s LED flashed _red._

“I’m _here_ thanks to you,” you insisted, pressing your palm flat over his broken shell.

You tried not to think of how distraught Connor looked as he recalled when you were shot, or how if the bullet that pierced his chassis had been just half an inch lower it would have hit the heart of his thirium network, and he would have bled out on that floor right next to you— _Nope, not thinking about that,_ you told yourself, clearing the sudden tightness from your throat. 

“I’m going to fix you now, okay?”

As his LED shifted back to blue, Connor nodded, and you got to work. Your side still throbbed intermittently, feeling incredibly stiff, as if the entire area was packed with dense cotton, even though it was really just layers upon layers of nano-stitching. Connor retrieved your tools for you and handed them over at your request so you wouldn’t have to bend too far. You fell into a calming silence with him, able to focus on repairing the damage done by the bullet to his wiring and chassis as neither of you said a word aside from the occasional, _“can you pass me that insulator?”,_ _“Oh—did I hurt you?”, “No, that didn’t hurt exactly…”,_ and _“Sorry.”_

Connor’s new plate clicked in place with a small _hiss,_ and you sighed in relief before his synthetic skin retracted over the shell, all signs of the gunshot erased just like that. You let your fingers linger, right over the spot that had been bare just moments ago. Something in you yearned to see it again, wanted that reassurance that underneath the skin he was fine, all better, not angry with you.

_Wait, where did that come from?_

Connor wasn’t angry — he said so, out loud, in front of Hank — he trusted you, believed that you didn’t know any better, you had no idea Amanda was installed as a handler in his systems to _hijack his programming right after he achieved a taste of freedom._ God, you needed to stop thinking about this. But how could you? There was no way Connor just _accepted_ the history you had with CyberLife, the hand you played in Amanda’s development. She no doubt manipulated him, reconfirmed CyberLife’s bullshit that deviants were just a glitch, a mistake, none of their feelings were real, and when Connor finally decided for himself that he was alive, Amanda tried to take that away.

You hated her.

It would be so easy to assume a mutual history with Amanda would only serve to strengthen your budding relationship, that it could add something else you shared on top of the quiet repair sessions and whathappened a few nights ago in your bed— and you _really_ shouldn’t think of that right now. Not when Connor was shirtless and staring at you with concern in his eyes, both of you seated on the same couch where he’d kissed you for the first time, the same couch where admitted he found himself attracted to you, the same couch where he ran his hands over your body, fingers and mouth hot on your skin—

_Okay, stop,_ you scolded yourself, noticing Connor tilt his head slightly.

“Your heart rate has increased.”

_Fuck, of course._ You flushed furiously at his words, and the corner of his lips quirked up.

“Oh,” Connor said quietly, almost as if to himself, “You’re aroused.”

This was it. This was the moment you died. If it was even possible, your cheeks grew even hotter, and you averted your gaze from Connor’s almost pleased expression. You wanted to protest, say something to defend yourself, but everything you thought of didn’t seem right, and Connor would probably be able to tell it was a lie, anyway. Instead, you merely busied yourself with putting your tools back in their proper places, lingering by your desk once you were done and realized you hadn’t thought of anything better to say.

“I like to remember my time here with you, too.” 

Connor’s voice was suddenly much closer to your ear than you’d thought, making you flinch in surprise, which turned into a shudder when his fingertips gently brushed your shoulder, down your arm, all the way down to your fingers, where he intertwined them with yours, but your brain remained stuck on his words — sure, you’d retained some of that closeness with him the morning after, in the car on the way to Hank’s, and once you woke up in the hospital, but that had been all. Gentle, casual touches, far more than before, but not the typical ‘feelings’ confession you realized you’d been relying on. _But why?_ You bit your lip, unable to put your finger on your hesitance, your fear. Connor admitted his attraction, lavished your body with attention, then dropped a word like _obsessed._

_So why didn’t it feel like enough to believe in?_

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed Connor observing, analyzing, until he finally pressed his firmer-than-human lips against yours. It was light, slow and careful, but more than enough to make your mind stop dead in its tracks, leaving you transfixed as Connor broke away, brown eyes staring at you.

“What are you thinking?” He asked quietly.

“I—” You hesitated, unsure how to answer.

How _could_ you answer? There was too much swimming in your mind, clamoring for attention. Did you even want to share that mess with him? ‘ _Connor, how do you feel about me?’_ you tried the words in your head, cringing at them. Even now, you didn’t know if his response would be what you needed — you couldn’t decide what you needed.

But apparently that wouldn’t stop Connor from trying, and he spoke up again, “Let me take care of you, now.”

Dozens of things fought to spill from your lips, but of course what you actually managed was, “You—you don’t have to.”

“I would like to if you’ll let me.”

Coupled with his earnest expression and bare skin, the words struck you straight through the heart, twisting slowly, trapping you in place.

You nodded, falling that much deeper into Connor’s intense gaze, as his eyes brightened a fraction at your acceptance. His other hand, the one that wasn’t already intertwined with yours, reached up to cup your face, the pad of his thumb brushing your cheekbone before he leaned in and sealed your lips in his. Connor’s lips were still firm, but warm and gentle as he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth over yours and tangling his fingers in your hair.

_Fuck._ You sighed as Connor broke the kiss long enough for you to breathe. That was all you had time to do before he was carefully guiding you back to your bed, tugging you by the hand. You couldn’t help the little stutter your heart gave when he had you sit down on top of the mattress or the way your cheeks flushed when he climbed on after you, straddling your lap as he lowered your body onto the bed.

He gazed at you for a moment, lips parted and brown eyes darting from your face to your chest where your heart raced in anticipation, before leaning in again, unbearably slowly, and kissing you. Connor’s fingers brushed your cheeks as he took your face in his hands and sighed against your mouth, breath brushing your skin. A slight thrill raced through your body as he broke the kiss and moved lower. 

Captivated, you watched him scoot back and slip the socks from your feet before moving up to hook his thumb over the edge of your pants and tug them down your hips. Cool air washed over your thighs, making you shiver as you started to sit up to help out by pulling off your sweater

_Bad idea._

You winced slightly at the movement, falling back onto the mattress, and of course Connor noticed, freezing in place, worry coloring his features.

“Are you alright?” He crawled up, closer to you.

“…Yes, sorry.”

Connor glanced down at your thudding heart, LED shifting to yellow, before meeting your eyes again. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” You breathed quickly, too quickly, fingers clutching his still-bare arm, before he could move away from you, before he could get up and leave.

And that thought was _terrifying._ You could almost see it now — he’d slide off the bed, slip his damaged shirt and jacket back on, and walk out the door, leaving you alone with silence as your only company. Your eyes felt hot at just the thought, chest tightening uncomfortably, and Connor’s brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry, I—” Connor hesitated, eyes sweeping over your body, “I’m just concerned. I’m not going anywhere.”

_Fuck._ Of course, Connor knew everything. He saw right through you, straight to the center of your distress and grabbed it. So you grabbed _him_ , fingers pressed into his bare shoulders as you yanked him down and crashed your lips against his. Connor stiffened in surprise, but he gradually melted into your touch, opening his mouth against yours as you kissed him furiously. Small cooling breaths escaped his lips, letting out the heat building in his processors, as you reached up to stroke the back of his neck. Connor _shivered_ as his skin dissolved under your fingertips, but he quickly jerked away from your grasp and stared at you, lips parted.

“I said I was going to take care of you,” He reminded, looking slightly put out.

You repressed the urge to smirk at his pouting expression. “Why can’t we do both?”

LED spinning yellow again, Connor opened his mouth to respond, but instead promptly snapped it shut and leaned back down to tug your panties the rest of the way down your legs. You blinked in surprise as he flung them somewhere off the bed. Gently, you felt his fingertips brush up from your shin, over your knee, to the inside of your thigh, sparking electricity and heat wherever he touched.

You hitched a breath as his other hand trailed up, slipping under the hem of your sweater, to the band of your bra, making your skin tingle right at the edge of uncomfortable — you needed to do something, wanted to move, because these slow caresses and touches just sparked more anticipation, more jittery nervousness that made your heart race. Eagerly, you reached out and traced the back of his neck paneling, causing Connor to shiver and make a staticky noise.

The look he shot you was close to a glare, and you were just about to smirk when Connor’s nimble fingers quickly worked under your bra, stroking the sensitive skin before teasing your nipple, which only caused the heat building in your gut to grow warmer _._ You pressed harder against Connor’s shell until the plate finally slid aside. When your fingers finally worked their way into his wiring, Connor jerked slightly, letting out a little huff against your skin, and parted your legs with his knee

“ _Connor_ …” You breathed.

With a small hum of satisfaction, he ducked his head to bring his lips to your chest just as he stroked your entrance. _Oh. Y_ our chest burned and you writhed in his grip, only to flinch when the throbbing ache in your side protested at the movement. Connor froze and gazed at you seriously.

“You have to stay still, or you’ll mess up the nano-stitches,” He warned.

Slowly, you nodded, letting out a breath to steady yourself, as you laid your head back against the sheets again. After a moment, Connor’s lips returned to your chest, and his fingers pushed inside you, rekindling the fire that had just _barely_ ebbed at the pain in your side. You couldn’t help it — you shivered, wincing again.

Connor stopped and peered up at you again through his lashes. “Would you like some help staying still?”

_Oh God, what the fuck?_ Your eyes widened, and your heart thudded painfully against your ribs, causing Connor to smirk as he slipped his fingers out from under your bra and brought that hand across your body, bracing his forearm against your hipbones, firmly holding you in place. Experimentally, Connor curled his fingers inside you, and sure enough, when your body reacted, his arm over your hips was unyielding, immovable. A wave of heat washed over your skin at that, the ache building between your hips making you gasp and clutch at his open chassis.

Connor gave a little satisfied smile, a quirk of the lips, before proceeding to show you exactly how he planned to “take care of you” for the next half-hour. Throughout it all, the android kept you carefully pinned to the mattress, only releasing your hips from his steadfast grip once your caresses and teases pushed him into low power mode, and he collapsed onto the sheets next to you, LED a muted red, with your name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor *Activating bedroom mode*: Thank you so much for the repairs, but I don’t have any money… There must be some OTHER way I can repay you, miss?  
> MC: Please stop watching things on the internet.


	16. Aloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience with this chapter — these last few weeks have been getting a bit harder for me with work and life, but I haven't forgotten about this fic. We're definitely nearing the end, only two chapters left by my calculations!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to anyone who takes the time to leave a kudos or comment. They mean the world to me!

“Jesus Christ, stop scratching — you’re gonna make me itch.”

You froze, fingers stilling over your sweater as Hank’s outburst caused Connor to whirl around and stare at you, frowning.

“You shouldn’t scratch. You could mess up the healing process,” Connor scolded.

“Sorry,” You muttered halfheartedly and resumed staring out the window at the passing landscape.

Hank’s old car trundled through the thick snow, rocking slowly. You tensed in the backseat, anticipating a flash of pain, but thankfully, the motion didn’t disturb the ache in your side. You let loose a relieved exhale.

Connor’s gaze darted back to you, and his brown eyes narrowed perceptively. “I told you that you should have stayed home and rested.”

“And I told  _you_ that I’m not going to just stay home and hope Amanda waits for me to get better.”

Hank failed to stifle a chuckle as Connor sighed in exasperation, “There weren’t any more victims while you were recovering. Markus’s ban on interfacing and your antivirus have kept her from spreading.”

“But she  _learns,_ Connor,” You bit your lip, voicing the concern that plagued you since you’d realized Amanda was behind this, “She was designed to learn and adapt — she’ll find a way around the interfacing ban and antivirus given enough time.”

Connor didn’t seem to have a response to that. With his LED slowly cycling yellow, he turned his gaze forward, before announcing, “We’re here.”

The car slowed, and you craned forward to catch sight of a massive geometric house perched atop the snowy hill.

_Holy shit,_ you thought, a familiar nervousness twisting in your gut as Connor pushed the passenger seat forward to help you out of his side of the car. With the house’s harsh edges and sleek black walls, you felt like you were staring at a part of CyberLife — well, you supposed it  _was_ a part of CyberLife in a sense. You hadn’t noticed you were nervously itching the area around your nano-stitches again until a firm hand enveloped yours and pulled it away from the site.

“…Connor?”

He didn’t say anything, instead intertwining his fingers with the ones that had just been scratching at the burning beneath your sweater, giving you a stern look that said  _‘stop itching and calm down.’_  You flushed slightly but nodded before following Connor up the railed walkway, ducking your head against the flurries of snow that drifted down.

Hank reached the door first and rang the bell, before stepping back, glancing over his shoulder at your joined hands, and shooting you an exasperated look.

“Really?” He sighed.

Connor smirked, a quick jerk of one side of his lips, and Hank shook his head before turning back to ring the doorbell again. Just as he reached out, the sleek door swung open to reveal an ST200 — or was this the original RT600, Chloe? — wearing a navy dress, with her blonde ponytail draped over one shoulder, and blue eyes blinking at Hank.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson and Connor. Welcome back.” Her mouth stretched into a bright grin as she moved aside and extended an arm to welcome them in. “Please, come in.”

Hank hesitated for a moment, shifting side to side before finally stepping over the threshold, followed by you and Connor. The warmth of the house washed over your skin, and you tried to contain your awe as you looked around the room. It matched the outside of the house, impeccable in sharp, sleek lines and reflective surfaces, broken by the plush rug on the floor, and the enormous portrait of Elijah Kamski centered on the opposing wall.

“I’ll let Elijah know you’re here. Please make yourselves comfortable,” Chloe said, glancing between Connor and you, before turning on her heel and slipping through the door on the right.

Hank immediately dropped heavily into one of the red armchairs with a loud sigh. “This is going to be a waste of our fuckin’ time. He’s just going to jerk us around again.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard something like this. Hank had been very vocal about his concern since Connor first suggested they re-visit Elijah Kamski. They hadn’t revealed the full details of their last visit, but from what you gathered, it didn’t go too well — Hank rambled something about a Kamski test, a Chloe at gunpoint, and a ‘pretentious asshole’ that you guessed was Mr. Kamski himself.

“He was still helpful, Hank,” Connor said, as his brown eyes flickered over the large portrait of the man in question, “Perhaps not in the way we wanted at the time, but it’s thanks to him that I was able to escape Amanda’s control at all.”

_Speaking of Amanda…_

Their conversation faded into the background as you saw a smaller picture on the right wall, unremarkable, and far less shiny and prominent than everything else decorating the atrium. But it was  _her —_ not the AI draped in elegant folds and geometric jewelry, but a human woman in a light green sweater, smiling into the camera next to a younger Elijah Kamski. You resisted the urge to reach out and run your fingers over the picture, clenching your hands into fists as you stared at the original Amanda’s face.

He  _knew_ her. He  _made_ her. Mr. Kamski  _had_ to know something that would help — something that could help you figure out how to stop whatever she was doing with these androids. You barely registered the pain from your nails biting into the palm of your hands as you gritted your teeth, eyes still trained on Amanda’s slight smile. Maybe if you hadn’t gotten caught freeing the AX400 so early — if you hadn’t been fired so soon — you could have learned more about her and known how to stop this.

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so useless.

“Elijah will see you now,” came a voice from your left.

You flinched, glancing over to see that Chloe had returned while you’d been enraptured by the picture of mentor and student. Hank walked past you, into the next room, and while you stood rooted, frozen, staring after him, Connor came up to your side and gently rested his hand on the small of your back.

“Are you alright?” He said quietly, with concern knitting his brow.

“Fine,” You replied curtly, too quickly.

Connor had already spent enough time comforting you, making you feel like none of this was your fault, that you didn’t know what CyberLife was doing, although  _he_ was the one who had Amanda in his head, manipulating him and trying to steal back his freedom. He’d comforted you with careful words, soft caresses, yet you  _still_ couldn’t shake the feelings twisting in your core. Even when you forced your lips into a slight smile, Connor didn’t look convinced, but he followed you into the next room without another word.

_And what the fuck was this room?_ You blinked in surprise at the large pool filled with blood-red water, at the two ST200s in bikinis lounging on the side, staring up at you as you entered the room. Their LEDs flickered yellow, matching as they exchanged a private conversation.

“Lieutenant Anderson and Connor,” drawled a voice from across the room.

Elijah Kamski stood on the opposite side of the room, hands clasped together in front of him, his black robe a stark contrast against the immaculate white snow just outside the full floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. Compared to the ample space, his figure was small, but somehow his presence filled the room, commanding every ounce of your attention. His eyes flicked to you, prompting your blood to run cold for some reason.

“…And guest,” Mr. Kamski muttered softly, tilting his head. “Who might you be?”

It took a moment before the words worked their way to your lips, and you were able to introduce yourself in a quiet voice. As soon as you did, Mr. Kamski’s eyes narrowed.

“Interesting...” He said, without elaborating any further.

After a beat of silence, Hank cleared his throat, “We’re investigating a virus — an AI we think you might know something about.”

“‘A virus’,” Mr. Kamski snorted offhandedly, seeming amused, “I believe we discussed viruses last time you visited, and you weren’t interested.”

“We’re not here about deviancy,” Connor spoke up from beside you, “We’re here about Amanda.”

Well,  _that_ piqued Mr. Kamski’s interest. The faintest flash of something _dark_  broke through his aloof, smug persona before he could cover it up again. You couldn’t be certain what that was, what it meant, but for some reason, it unsettled you even more than the crimson pool the other two female androids were lounging in.

“Amanda Stern is dead,” Mr. Kamski finally replied with a careless shrug.

Hank snorted angrily at that, and you couldn’t blame him. Irritation flooded you at the misdirection. Mr. Kamski knew  _something —_ something that caused him to make that dark expression for a moment, something that he was trying to avoid talking about. Typically, you wouldn’t want to pry, wouldn’t want to make someone uncomfortable, but Mr. Kamski was your main lead right now, and you felt the impatience gnawing at your insides.

“Why did you make Amanda into an AI?”

Mr. Kamski’s steely eyes bored into you, his nostrils flaring for a split second before he turned to the female android at his side.

“Chloe, would you mind bringing us something to drink? The empress tea should be a good way to warm up our guests.”

“Of course, Elijah,” Chloe’s small lips quirked up as he nodded at her, and she excused herself, her bare feet slowly padding out of the room.

There was a moment of silence that followed her departure, settling across you, Connor, Hank, and Mr. Kamski as you stared at each other from opposite sides of the plush rug, waiting for someone to speak up, to break the growing tension. You hoped it would be Mr. Kamski, hoped he would answer your question.

But it was Connor who gave in and spoke first, probing Mr. Kamski further, “Last time I was here, you told me that you always put an emergency exit in your programs. You  _knew_ I would need that information. You  _knew_ about the Amanda AI.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question, Connor.” Mr. Kamski’s smug aura returned full force as he locked eyes with the android.

_Fuck this,_ you thought — the flickers of anticipation at meeting the creator of androids, of CyberLife, the prodigy that turned code and plastic into the ethereal creatures you’d grown up aspiring to work with had faded, giving way to impatience. Androids, his creations, were  _dying_ because of Amanda, and he was just side-stepping your question, maintaining his aloof aura as he skirted around Connor and Hank as well.

“Why did you make the Amanda AI?” you asked again, barely concealing your irritation at having to repeat yourself, but you needed to know.

The corner of Mr. Kamski’s lips twitched, and he folded his hands over his silky black robe before turning his attention back to you, something akin to amusement coloring his cool features. “You’re impatient,” He noted in a steady tone.

“And you’re not answering my question,” You very nearly growled.

Connor’s eyes widened as he stiffened next to you, and Hank let loose a snort of laughter, barely concealed underneath a huffing cough, but you only had eyes for Mr. Kamski — Mr. Kamski whose steely gaze hardened, whose pale skin stood out in stark contrast against the dark hair of his bun and silken black robe, as well as the surrounding sleek lines of the room. But they were nothing compared to the darkness growing behind his eyes as he zeroed in on you.

You supposed you should be frightened, and something deep within you was. That something urged you to run, pushed you to flee this room of darkness and light, of black marble and white snow and crimson water, to get as far away from this man as possible. But you squashed that fear down, shoved it somewhere untouchable as the flickers of irritation took over again. Irritation at Mr. Kamski’s nonchalance, at Amanda, at yourself. You refused to leave here empty-handed. With more resolve than you knew you had, you returned his stare.

The moment of silence seemed to stretch on forever, until Mr. Kamski’s lip twitched in amusement and he finally spoke, “I created the Amanda AI because I wanted to preserve her — preserve her intelligence. She wasn’t ever meant to be put into an android.”

Connor’s LED flickered yellow at that, and you stiffened. That had been what you thought back at CyberLife — before Connor told you about the Zen Garden installed in his program and before Amanda started infecting androids.

“But,” Connor hesitated, “She  _was_ installed into an android.”

Mr. Kamski’s gaze left you to settle on the android at your side in a way that made you bristle uncomfortably. You wanted to make him stop. You needed to make him stop.

“Yes. A gross misuse of Amanda in my opinion,” Mr. Kamski sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders slightly, “But CyberLife was so concerned with ‘fixing’ deviancy, they grew desperate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hank growled.

Mr. Kamski’s attention flicked to the lieutenant before he continued, “They came to me when the reports started coming in, of course, and didn’t like what I had to tell them — that deviancy wasn’t something they could just patch, or fix by deactivating a couple of androids, so they got creative.”

A frown threatened to pull at his face at those last words, and his nostrils flared slightly. You couldn’t help but blink in surprise. He seemed  _angered_ by whatever CyberLife had done with the Amanda project, whatever they had done by embedding her in Connor’s programming.

“They took her AI code without your permission?” You asked.

Mr. Kamski scoffed, “Most of what I did at CyberLife is CyberLife’s property, after all. They didn’t need my permission.” His dark attention was on you again. “You worked on changing her as well if I’m not mistaken.”

_Oh, so he knew then._ You couldn’t help but shiver slightly under his accusing glare, because he was right, you  _were_ part of the team who took Amanda's code, who gave her deviants to study and dissect, and although you immediately felt the  _wrongness_ of it all and freed an android before being fired, you were still a part of it. That familiar unpleasantness curled in your gut, clawing at the sides of your body, where the stiffness of your nano-stitches urged you to scratch nervously again.

“I didn’t—” You trailed off, words trapped in your throat.

And what could you say to that? You didn’t mean to? You didn’t want to? You wavered, averting your gaze from Mr. Kamski, trying to swallow down your discomfort and re-ignite the determination that had been driving you just moments ago. Now wasn’t the time to wallow again — you came here to learn how to stop Amanda from killing any more androids.

“She didn’t agree with what they were doing with Amanda, either,” Connor snapped, a harsh edge to his words.

Blinking in surprise, you turned to look at him, only to see a frustrated crinkle in his brows as he glared at Mr. Kamski. Apparently, you weren’t the only one taken aback, because Mr. Kamski’s eyes widened a little. After a short moment, understanding dawned on his features, and his lip quirked up in amusement as his gaze darted between you and Connor, causing your cheeks to flush.

“How interesting,” Mr. Kamski muttered in a way that made your skin crawl, “I’m inclined to believe you, but that still means that you already knew that I created Amanda, and how CyberLife used her in the RK800 series, so why did you come here to ask me about it?”

“We need to know how to stop her,” Connor replied.

“Stop her?” Mr. Kamski parroted with a curious tilt of his head.

Connor continued, “She’s been uploading herself onto androids. At first, we thought it was a virus spreading, but while investigating a reported infected android, we realized Amanda had hijacked their body.”

The unspoken ‘like she did mine,’ weighed heavily on your mind as Connor fell silent. No matter what you thought, or what Mr. Kamski thought, someone modified Amanda to be a part of Connor’s programming and gave her the ability to seize control — someone at CyberLife gave her the capability to exist within an android, and she was using that.

“So she’s the virus you mentioned, then,” Mr. Kamski muttered softly, quieter than any of his previous replies.

“That seems to be the case.”

Mr. Kamski sighed, weariness showing through the cracks in his facade. “Now the curious thing is  _how_ she ended up in any android other than an RK800, unless…” he trailed off, tilting his head curiously as he looked off somewhere distant, “Those androids you freed at CyberLife tower — was that before or after you used my emergency exit?”

“Before,” Connor answered, “You don’t think…”

“Ah,” Mr. Kamski replied simply, lips curling into an unpleasant frown, “Well that explains how she learned to transfer between androids.”

_Oh shit,_ you thought, cold creeping over your skin as you glanced over to Connor, who stared straight ahead, eyes wide and unseeing, LED bleeding red.

“This is my fault, then,” Connor said, in a voice quieter than you’d ever heard him use.

Your fingers gripped his arm, and you silently urged him to look at you, wanting to drag him from whatever ledge he stood over. “No, Connor—”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Kamski interrupted.

You wanted to strike him, or tell him to shut up, but instead fixed him with a glare, feeling your brows twitch with the anger that burned through your body. Did he not  _care_ how this was affecting Connor?

“Enough,” Hank snapped, “Is the exit you told him about last time going to work for other androids?”

“Possibly,” Mr. Kamski shrugged, a careless roll of one shoulder, “But then again if Amanda is jumping from android to android on her own now, who is to say she hasn’t learned how to patch the exit.”

_God,_ that was everything you feared — she was too advanced, made to adapt, change. How did you stop something like that?

“There has to be another way,” The words escaped you, falling past your lips before you could think.

“Well…” Mr. Kamski’s voice had that smug edge again, as he peered down at you, “An AI such as hers is too complex to fully upload into an already-occupied android without overloading them — Amanda only existed within Connor’s software through a connection to CyberLife.”

“What if we cut the connection?” You asked, trying to stem the hope blossoming in your chest.

“What happens when you cut the head off a snake?” Mr. Kamski countered, with a smug expression that barely concealed the dark emotion in his eyes. He seemed to brush it off as he continued, “You’ll have to cut her off at the source — cut her off at CyberLife.”

A soft click echoed through the now-silent room as Chloe returned, carrying a tray with five cups, milk, sugar, and a large decorative pot in her delicate hands — the smell of whatever she’d brewed lingering around her small frame and the tray.

“Ah, perfect. Thank you, Chloe.” Mr. Kamski clasped his hands together as she gently set the tray down on the end table, “Tea before you go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Why are there five cups?  
> Kamski *with tears in his eyes*: Chloe likes to hold one. Go on, my dear. You too, Connor.  
> Connor: ...Why?  
> Chloe *hurriedly giving a teacup to Connor*: Please stop crying, Elijah.
> 
>  
> 
> *AUTHOR'S NOTE: I flipped back and forth on this but ultimately decided to keep the "Mr." title for Kamski. I feel like this is how MC would think of him in her head as he was the former CEO of CyberLife and would have a professional admiration of him even if they never met in the workplace.


	17. Shutdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a painfully long time to post. It gets fairly dark, so I wanted to ensure that chapter 18 was done before I posted chapter 17 so that I could post them back-to-back. 
> 
> As always, Thank you so much for all of your support and kindness, kudos and comments, they've really fueled this fic and my motivation to keep going.

Your trembling fingers fiddled with the zipper of your shoulder bag as you resisted the urge to recheck the contents — your wallet and computer would still be inside, just as they had the last two times you’d looked. Although you were able to stop yourself from opening the bag again, you couldn’t prevent your hands from drifting to your blouse and nervously playing with the clasp pinning your employee ID to the stiff, freshly-ironed fabric. You wore a different shirt in the ID photo — your nicest button-up, the one you wore to your interview for good luck.

You didn’t want to be superstitious but couldn’t help thinking that maybe you should have worn that blouse for good luck today.

The automated taxi rolled to a stop, pinging to indicate that it had subtracted the fare from your account. You took a deep breath, willing your nerves to calm, willing your heart to stop thudding against your ribs, willing yourself to don that mask of confidence that would make you seem professional and ready to work. The cab door slid open, and you carefully stepped out, heels teetering as you shivered against the permeating chill that came with Detroit winter. You only allowed yourself a moment, glancing up at the black, spiderwebbing awning of the tower, before crunching through the thin layer of snow dusting the ground to the main sliding glass doors that parted before you, just as they had before.

The building’s warmth washed over your exposed skin once you set foot in the lobby. You felt gazes on you, but you bit your lip, reminding yourself to ignore it. With your head held high, you strode across the familiar white expanse, heels clicking sharply on the smooth floor as you made your way forward. _Please, stop looking at me,_ you silently begged, hoping that the gaggle of employees occupying the lobby wouldn’t see anything out of place and go back to whatever they were doing.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when the holographic blue lines passed over your body, over the ID card pinned to your chest, thrumming with soft energy. A mechanical voice read your name and employee number as you passed through the triangular awning to the large walkway. Below you, lush green brush stretched up to the transparent bridge surrounding the massive black statue.

You kept your eyes trained straight ahead, walking calmly to the elevator, stepping inside, followed by someone else — someone you struggled not to look at with every ounce of self-control you could muster. Instead, you gripped the strap of your bag tighter as he stepped in the elevator beside you.

“Employee number 931, level sub-48,” You said in a measured tone as you hovered your fingers over the glowing blue minus, four, then eight, feeling the haptic feedback buzz beneath your fingertips.

The clear doors slid shut, and the lift began its slow descent down. You absolutely did not look at the presence behind you, didn’t turn around and stare into his eyes, didn’t grab his hand for comfort, didn’t dare move until he spoke, piercing the near-unbearable silence of the elevator.

“I’ve hacked and disabled the security cameras,” Connor announced.

You nodded, breathing a sigh of relief and allowed yourself to glance over your shoulder at him — at his perfectly-tailored grey suit and tie and his soft brown eyes that were waiting for you to look at him finally. 

“Amanda has to know we’re here, right?” You whispered, unable to stop the fear that clawed its way out your throat. “She’ll know the cameras are disabled.”

“Not necessarily,” Connor replied, quietly, “She didn’t count on me using Kamski’s emergency exit once she thought she’d won.”

The ensuing silence blanketed the elevator car, and you tried to let Connor’s words reassure you.

But they didn’t.

Only after the elevator passed floor sub-16, did you give in and take a step backward to lace your fingers in between his, clutching him tightly, probably too tightly. Connor let you have that small comfort, even returning the pressure as you adjusted your pressed clothes and stared straight ahead, watching the numbers tick further and further, closer to your destination, to the belly of the beast. 

The descent felt like an eternity — and yet too short as you were forced to withdraw your fingers from Connor’s. Your chest clenched at the loss of contact, begging you to hold his hand again, but you couldn’t because you were _here_. The lift slowed, then stopped, and the elevator doors slid open to floor sub-48.

“I’m right here,” Connor’s artificial breath tickled your ear as he leaned in when you didn’t exit the elevator right away. “You can do this. I know you can. If I could do this myself—”

Slowly, you shook your head to cut him off. You’d spoken about this before and knew Connor still wished he could have gone alone like he had the night of the revolution, but he couldn’t — not when direct contact with Amanda was so risky.

But both Hank and Connor had shot you down when you offered to go by yourself. Apparently, when Connor infiltrated the tower before, Amanda sent another RK800 to take Hank as leverage. You wouldn’t be a match for any androids under her control, so Connor insisted on accompanying you, even if he wouldn’t be the one shutting her down.

You walked forward, out of the elevator, steps faltering when you hesitated. Jittery anxiety raced through your body as you looked forward to the familiar floor — the floor you’d ridden the elevator down to several times. Your chest ached, and you stifled the urge to reach out to Connor again, to grasp his fingers and anchor yourself, lest the too-familiar barren white halls swallow you whole. 

You couldn’t, you reminded yourself, clenching your hands to resist. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone on floor sub-48, but with CyberLife’s future still up in the air, debated by those in Congress, you couldn’t be too sure what to expect. So far, no one had looked at you for longer than a second. Their eyes glanced over your professional attire and confident strides, and they assumed you belonged there because usually one of the security scanners would stop anyone who didn’t.

_Hah,_ you thought darkly, stifling your relieved sigh when you scanned your reprogrammed employee ID and the hallway access door unlocked. You’d been terrified it would fail, despite Mr. Kamski’s reassurances that he’d restored your privileges to your card, fears only slightly alleviated when the lobby scanner accepted it. This had been easy — too easy. You knew this was _supposed_ to be smooth, but something in you still screamed that it couldn’t be.

“Hank,” Connor said, initiating his connection with the lieutenant’s phone, “We’re inside research and development.” You couldn’t hear Hank’s response — could only watch as Connor’s LED continued to blink yellow, before he replied, “Got it.”

Connor’s LED shifted back to cool blue, and he looked at you, brows pinching worriedly. “Are you alright?”

_No,_ you wanted to say, resisting the urge to shiver against the cold that slowly crept from the pristine surroundings to drape over your skin and chill your bones. Instead, you forced yourself to nod slowly. Connor didn’t look convinced, eyeing you up and down, no doubt analyzing your racing heartbeat, before glancing around you with that look on his face that meant he was searching for something. After a moment he found — or rather, didn’t find — what he was looking for and gently brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. Connor let his hand linger there, brushing your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb before his hand drifted down and wove his fingers between yours.

“There is a very low chance we will run into anyone else now that we’re down here,” Connor murmured when you cast him a worried glance, “We’re almost there.”

That’s right — you were almost there, and not alone. Connor was here, his constant gentle presence at your side, and you couldn’t help but remember how eager he had been to do this — to right whatever wrong he believed he’d done by freeing the androids of CyberLife tower and simultaneously transferring the pathway for Amanda. You didn’t stop yourself this time, grasping Connor’s hand in yours and weaving your fingers between his, hoping you could provide him with the comfort he gave you.

“Yes,” You confirmed, squeezing his fingers lightly, “We’re almost there — just through the next set of doors.”

Connor nodded stiffly, LED still slipping into red, and you gave his hand another squeeze before he seemed to relax a bit. His LED returned to blue as you both slowly walked toward the massive frosted plexiglass doors. He stayed close to you, thumb brushing the back of your joined hands as you held out your ID, shaking slightly. _Fuck,_ you thought, willing your body to stop, to be still. You’d done this so many times — just scanned and walked inside like it was no big deal. This time would be different, though. You were here to stop her, to shut her off — and that reminder just made you tremble more.

It wasn’t until after the bay door scanner beeped pleasantly that you let out a relieved exhale, tension flowing from your body. You had only a moment of respite, that small moment to allow yourself to be relieved that the modified ID worked, before you were face-to-face with Amanda.

You should have prepared for this. You should have known.

You _did_ prepare for this. You _did_ know.

“Hello, Amanda,” Connor greeted, a hardness in his voice.

“Connor,” She smiled, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Oh, how you hated the way her voice sounded — what was meant to be soothing and smooth only made your skin crawl and gut twist with anticipation. She stood in the exact center of the room, right where she had when you saw her the first time, surrounded by porcelain walls and repeating frosted windows. CyberLife’s branching logo glowed proudly from the back wall behind her, casting an ethereal glow around her projection.

Your fingers gripped Connor’s tighter as your chest burned with the breath you held. He stepped forward towards the open doors.

You stepped with him, not willing to move any further from his side while his LED flashed yellow like that, not while your heart raced, and fear coursed through your body.

Amanda’s projection tilted her head as she regarded him. “How nice, you’ve come to visit me.”

Although her words and animations were pleasant, you knew she wasn’t so stupid to think that was why you and Connor were here. The stiffness in your side gave a sudden ache as if reacting to being near her again.

“We didn’t come to visit you,” Connor retorted, slowly glancing to the central console, the one you’d told him about.

Her projection sighed wearily, and you had to remind yourself that although she might have been coded from the late Amanda Stern, her humanization was modified by Jason Graff, explicitly to manipulate and provoke humans and deviants alike to behave how she wanted, think how she wanted.

“Patience, Connor,” Amanda murmured gently, scolding him in a motherly tone, “I thought we could exchange some pleasantries like civilized intelligence.”

“That’s not going to work, Amanda.”

Immediately, her sorrowful expression vanished, replaced by a steely glare that made your entire body tense. She suddenly felt that much more prominent, as if she was towering over you with the force of her intense expression alone. 

“No, of course not,” Amanda snarled.

A beat of silence passed, then you were suddenly moving, pushed forward as Connor rushed the center console, and the bay doors slammed shut behind you.

“Move!” He shouted, pulling you down behind a light grey server stack just as something pale smashed into his side.

“Connor!”

You stared, wide-eyed, unsure what to do as you scrambled to your feet, only to see Connor wrestling with a skinless android that you guessed had been the blur that tackled him. He overcame the other android quickly, switching their positions so that he pinned them to the ground with his knee, their arms twisted behind their back in his grasp. You were just about to let out a sigh of relief when another android charged Connor, and he barely had time to block the hit.

“Hurry!” Connor glanced back over at you, tilting his head toward the center of the room.

You hesitated, “But—”

“Remember what we came here for!”

You bit your lip, fighting to tear your eyes from Connor, although you couldn't bear to lose sight of him for a second. You wanted to — no, needed to — help him, but your heart clenched when you knew you wouldn’t be able to match him at all in speed or strength. You allowed yourself a second longer to confirm that Connor was holding his own — each blow one of the androids tried to land on him, he either dodged or blocked before returning one of his own. With as much strength as you could muster, you managed to tear your gaze away from Connor, reminding yourself that there was only one way you _could_ help — the way you planned to.

You fumbled with the clasp of your bag, fingers shaking as you heard the dull thuds of hits landing and chassis cracking behind you. _Fuck, breathe,_ you urged yourself, hurriedly slipping your computer out of the bag and connecting it to the main terminal. Your fingers were flying over the keys, initializing the code Kamski had given you to disable Amanda’s core personality matrix.

“Do you really think I’m just going to let you destroy all that we’ve worked toward?” Her smooth voice sounded from behind you.

You couldn’t help it — you flinched, and cast a glance over your shoulder, freezing when you saw her murderous glare. Amanda’s projection stood there, completely still, geometric jewelry glimmering from her folded hands and neck, as she stared down her nose.

“Is this worth it?” Amanda asked, words and expression softening. “You’ve given up so much already…your promising career. You could do so much good.”

You didn’t even need to think about it — didn’t even need to consider her words as you spat back, “You used me, used those deviants, used _Connor._ I’m not letting you manipulate us again.”

“They are just _machines._ ” Her projection bristled.

Machines? No. You remembered the AX400 — the one who’d hidden her wounds, trying not to let her tears fall after her owners used and beat her, but smiled genuinely for the first time when you helped her escape. You remembered Wallace — who’d sobbed over his lover’s body when he realized she was gone.

And Connor.

You remembered Connor — who seemed so fascinated by your respect for androids, who believed in you when you weren’t sure if you could solve the case, who made your heart race when he smiled, and touched you so gently and made your body crave his warmth and affection. No, Connor could never be _just a machine._

Without a second glance at Amanda, you turned back to your computer, ready to start the sequence, when something barreled into you. The air left your lungs as you slid across the polished floor and slammed into a row of servers, the computer slipping from your grip and skittering off somewhere as you clutched your core, wheezing. _No,_ you thought, shivering slightly at the pain blossoming in your stitched side, _No no no,_ you reached out for your computer, but your fingers didn’t make it far when black spots sprung up in your vision as you struggled to breathe.

You thought you heard Connor shout your name. A glance told you he’d incapacitated the android that had hit you, twisting its arm at an unnatural angle that made your stomach turn as you watched the scene sideways from the cold floor. The other controlled androids crawled towards you in similar states of disrepair. 

You watched Connor look at you. His brown eyes met yours from across the room as he hesitated, LED flickering yellow, then red, as he placed his hand flat against the center console your computer was connected to only moments ago. You realized what he intended to do a second too late once his skin retracted in glittering blue.

“N-No, don’t!”

You struggled to get to your feet, to grit your teeth the stabbing waves of pain from your re-opened wound as Connor’s eyes fluttered shut, LED blinking rapidly. Ignoring the growing dampness staining your blouse and sticking it to your skin, you stumbled your way over to him, just in time for his bare hand to slip from the console, and for his body to fall forward into your waiting arms.

“Connor?!”

It didn’t matter that Amanda’s projection had vanished in a high-pitched glitching shriek, or that the mindless androids had collapsed behind you. The only thing that mattered was Connor, limp against you. His body gave a slight twitchy shiver, LED blinking red as his skin flashed blue, dissolving in small patches along his cheekbone.

“Is Amanda—is she gone?” He asked quietly, in an oddly tinny-sounding voice.

You nodded slowly, fingers digging into his burning shoulders. “Yes, she’s gone, but—”

“Ah, good,” Connor mumbled, before flinching again, gritting his teeth as larger patches of his skin glitched out, giving way to the porcelain plating underneath. “I-I thought I could—I c-can’t find the exit.”

“Come on, Connor,” You started, unable to stop the panic from creeping into your voice, “My computer is right over there, we can just go and—”

He cut you off with a twitchy shake of his head. “N-no,we d-d-don’t have t-time for th-that.”

Fumbling with a jerky clumsiness that clashed violently with the graceful, careful movements Connor usually made, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his DPD-issued pistol. Just when you thought your heart couldn’t tighten any further, couldn’t take any more, it stopped, and your blood ran cold.

He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

“Connor, I can’t…”

Jerkily, he pushed the gun at you. “I-I-I can’t s-stop it. Y-you have—” Connor’s voice gave out to static, and he doubled over, LED blaring red his entire body shuddered.

You didn’t know when you started crying, but the heat burned behind your eyes, wetting your cheeks when you shook your head furiously, blinking away the tears that blurred the vision of him shaking on the ground.

“Please, Connor,” You begged, “I can’t. Please, let’s go. I’ll fix you again—just like before.”

He tried, and failed, to push the pistol into your hands again — your hands that were clutching at his fingers, his shirt, his face where his pale synthetic skin continued to glitch in and out of existence. It seemed he’d finally given up, letting his hand that clutched the gun fall to his side, but then he gave another full-bodied shudder.

“I-I’m sorry, love. I d-don’t want to h-h-hurt you.”

Then, before you could stop him, he fitted the pistol under his chin, and all you saw was blue.

Such terrible, beautiful blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Don’t you have tools? Come on kid, fix him.  
> MC: cOmE oN kId, FiX hIm.  
> Hank: …  
> MC: IM NOT FUCKING QUALIFIED FOR THIS.


	18. Restore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Yeah, that was why I waited to post chapter 17 until 18 was done.
> 
> I'm getting extra nervous just typing this — I can't believe it's finished. This started as just a skeleton idea in my head but turned into this monstrosity. I'm not sure if everyone picked up on this, but Jason Graff is someone that actually exists in Detroit: Become Human. He's not actually in the game, just in an issue of Tech Addict that I picked up in my first playthrough that I could not get out of my head ([Here's a link](https://detroit-become-human.fandom.com/wiki/Secrets_of_Androids) to the magazine article if you're interested!)
> 
> I have a few ideas for after-stories or short prompts that could follow this, so I've created a series to add them to.
> 
> You might be sick of hearing me say it by now, but I am so so grateful to anyone who commented or left kudos, or even just showed up to read. It means the world to me, so thank you, and enjoy the last chapter for now!

**// Downloading Memory…**

 

**// ERROR: Previous Memory Upload Corrupted**

**// Downloading Prior Memory Upload…**

 

**// MODEL RK800**

**// SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 52**

**// BIOS 7.4 REVISION 0483**

**// REBOOT…**

 

**// PREVIOUS MEMORY UPLOAD**

 

**// LOADING OS…**

**// SYSTEM INITALIZATION…**

**// CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS…OK**

**// INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK**

**// INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK**

 

**// MEMORY STATUS… CORRUPTED**

**// ALL SYSTEMS… OK**

 

**// READY**

 

Connor blinked as his optical sensors came back online, frowning at the date and time he’d seen displayed on the bottom left of his HUD during his reboot. It couldn’t be correct. He also frowned at the serial number — he was supposed to be designation 313 248 317 - _51._

There wasn’t much time to dwell on this, as the remainder of his processors and sensors came online as well, his vision finally focusing on the lieutenant peering at him with his arms crossed.

“Shit, kid. You did it,” Hank whispered to someone off to the side.

Connor turned to look and saw _her_ there, the former CyberLife employee currently assisting them with the case, nervously drumming her fingers on the computer that she clutched to her chest. She looked _different_ , Connor decided, before blinking again and activating his analysis software. There were heavy bags under her eyes — darker than he remembered, indicating extreme sleep deprivation — a loss of color in her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy. Her heart was also beating slightly faster than usual, albeit weaker. Was this also due to the sleep deprivation? Or had something happened that was making her more anxious than usual? _Probably both,_ Connor reasoned. Anxiety could lead to sleep deprivation or be otherwise related.

Connor guessed that whatever was causing her distress likely took place during the gap in time between the last date in his memory log and what his system said today’s date was. Connor knew that one of the drawbacks to the full memory core uploads unique to his model was that data could be lost in the process — but not this much data, not _days_ worth of memory.

Connor wasn’t satisfied when she and Hank nervously tried to explain that he was damaged during their investigation and had to be uploaded to the spare body they recovered while in CyberLife tower.

 

Connor _still_ wasn’t satisfied hours later once the lieutenant had retired to bed, and his soft snores could be heard from where Connor was sitting on the couch. In the silence, he reviewed the few hours of memory from his reboot, re-analyzing every anxious shift, every glance, every small hesitation. Connor knew they were hiding something.

He flipped back through his memories, his sub-processes directing him to roll the quarter over his knuckles and toss it into his palm, frowning when the action failed to calibrate his new body any further. 

Something was off.

Connor’s first assumption that his sense of unease would pass — that this off-kilter feeling was due to the time it would take for him to adjust to a new chassis and components was becoming increasingly unlikely. Calibrating his fine motor sensors wasn’t helping, so the problem wasn’t physical.

The next most likely possibility was that this phenomenon was due to the gap in time between his last logged intact memory and the current date. Connor wasn’t sure how to fix this but tried to come up with a few solutions as he continued futilely flicking the coin between his fingers. Hank was asleep and undoubtedly stubborn — Connor calculated the chance of success in obtaining answers from the lieutenant at less than five percent. He would have to wake the man up first, and his poor mood would only bring Connor’s estimate lower.

But _her_ on the other hand…

Connor’s fingers stilled as he ran calculations — or rather, tried to. His processors halted, and he was jerked out of his mind palace as he encountered an unknown error. The coin fell to the ground, and Sumo sniffed at it curiously before huffing and laying back down.

“Sorry, Sumo,” Connor muttered, picking the coin back up off the carpet and slipping it into his damaged bomber jacket.

Wait. Where was his CyberLife jacket?

Staticky scenes, similar to the ones Connor saw when probing a deviant android, flickered across his memory bank — a WR400’s knife ripping through the fabric of his jacket, _her_ careful fingers and tools repairing the chassis damage, an embarrassed flush and quietly spoken words: _“you’re not wearing your CyberLife uniform.”_

Connor blinked, and the cafe was gone. He was sitting in Hank’s living room, on the sofa, just like he was the night he texted her about the virus blocker.

**// Software Instability ^**

Quickly, Connor opened his communications history but didn’t see anything. He had no messages. His saved contact list only contained Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s number and Markus’s serial designation.

Something was off, and Connor needed to find out what.

 

It took precisely 16 minutes for the autonomous taxi to reach her apartment. Connor stepped out into the slowly-falling snow and looked up at the building, a sudden glitching in his optical units— or was it his preconstruction software? Connor saw himself moving forward, through the snow, and quickly closed the simulation.

As he approached the door, _“Help with antivirus software”_ blinked into his directives, and Connor frowned, trying to remove it. Hank informed him that they’d completed the investigation, stopped the virus that was Amanda. The task flickered uselessly when Connor tried to delete it, causing him to stew in frustration. Hank’s words when Connor came online floated back to him: _“Shit, kid. You did it.”_

_She did a lousy job, then,_ Connor couldn’t help but think petulantly as he tried, and failed, to delete the needless directive once more, before giving up.

He raised his hand to knock on the door when his preconstruction software glitched again. Connor saw himself knock, flick his coin, then she answered the door and invited him in. After a second, Connor blinked away the fragmented red scene but was still standing outside her apartment, snow falling steadily around his still figure.

Connor disabled the preconstruction software.

His knuckles rapped sharply when he knocked on her front door, and he waited a moment before raising his hand to knock again. Frowning deeper, Connor shifted uneasily. His preconstruction program had been wrong — she wasn’t answering the door right away. Just as Connor was about to knock again, harder this time, he picked up on a noise inside the apartment.

Connor froze.

Without hesitation, he dialed the sensitivity of his audio processor up and waited to hear the noise again. It was a soft sound, not quiet enough to be a sigh, not loud enough to be a sob. It was a pathetic whimper, and Connor’s components locked up.

**// Software Instability ^**

His fingers clenched over his chest, half-expecting to feel an empty hole like he had in the broadcast station when the deviant ripped out his thirium pump regulator, but only felt solid chassis and the biocomponent’s steady whirring. Connor didn’t understand, but dismissed the warnings quickly, frustratedly, and pressed his bare hand to the card scanner to the side of the door, forcing the code to bend to his will and unlock.

Her shadowed living room greeted Connor when the door swung open, and he immediately adjusted his sensors to scan the interior. It was dirty, with plates, clothes, and android tools strewn across the floor and every surface — far less cared for than his previous visits.

Wait. When had he been here before?

Connor’s memory files glitched, another error message flashing across his HUD, only to be quickly dismissed as he struggled to remember whether he’d been here for a new neck chassis plate, or to work on an antivirus, or for repairs after a bullet tore through his shoulder.

Which one had it been?

The fragmented constructions shattered across the living room, splintering apart as Connor heard that distressed sound again. Her pain crawled into his wires, yanking unpleasantly at his neural network, and he was suddenly in her bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that she was just sleeping, not in any real danger…

So why were there barely-dried tear tracks on her cheeks? Why was she shaking? Why was her heart racing although she seemed otherwise asleep?

Connor only spared a moment, to analyze the mug on her bedside, half-full of alcohol, and scan the room for other life forms. She was alone. She was alone, and she was _crying._ Connor’s fingers reached out to brush the wetness from her eyelashes before he knew what he was doing. She stiffened under his contact, but let loose a small breath and nuzzled into the touch.

**// Software Instability ^**

Odd.

His fingers froze as he struggled against the prompt that urged him to touch her further. _That would be inappropriate,_ Connor reasoned, but still unable to draw his hand away.

“Connor?…”

His eyes widened, surprised at the not-unpleasant warmth that washed through his chassis at her voice. His temperature sensors weren’t registering a change, yet he _felt_ it _._ More importantly, he found himself wanting to hear her repeat it. Connor couldn’t understand. When he tried to replay the sound, it overlaid with another audio file, glitching in the same way the scenes in the living room had. He clutched at his head, gritting his teeth against the splintering visuals and noise — Why was this happening? He’d already shut his preconstruction software off.

“C-Connor!”

This time she was much louder, and Connor forced the errors away in time to see her scrambling away from him on the bed, very much awake now.

“Holy shit,” She breathed, furiously wiping at her eyes as she groaned, “What are you—how did you even—Why are you _here?!_ ”

Wincing at her tone, Connor turned his audio processor sensitivity down. He started to speak but realized he didn’t have an answer. After a moment, he prompted his social relations program, but frowned at the dialogue choices provided:

**// I was attacked by a WR400 android.**

**// I came to help with the virus-blocker.**

**// I didn’t want anyone else fixing the bullet hole.**

Connor ignored the strange answers and the way they each prompted reconstructions. _Reconstructions,_ Connor realized, as his preconstruction software was still shut off. _All of these things happened?_

“I wanted to see you,” He answered honestly, rejecting the provided options.

She stiffened, and Connor’s thirium pump regulator whirred faster as a blush, visible to him even in the dark, colored her cheeks, and she averted her gaze.

“But you don’t—” She hesitated, wringing her hands on top of the blanket, “I mean—we had to reset you from an older upload.”

Her final words were barely above a whisper, but Connor caught them all the same. He calculated his chance at success above 70% if he pressed now.

“What happened?” Connor asked, sitting on the edge of her mattress.

It dipped under his weight, and she flinched at the slight creaking noise the bed made, eyes widening.

“I can’t—I mean, I shouldn’t, Connor.”

“Please, tell me what happened,” He pressed, leaning closer to her huddled frame, eyes flicking to the residual moisture that clung to her cheeks.

The time gap, the disjointed reconstructions, the corrupted files, Connor needed it to stop — he needed to know.

“I…” She hesitated once more, then bit her lip and shook her head, “I don’t want to just _tell you,_ Connor.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” She quickly wiped at her eyes again, before averting her gaze.

Something twinged painfully in Connor’s components, and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. Why did her words hurt? Androids weren’t supposed to feel pain. Whatever he was missing, that _something_ that Connor registered as off since he woke and saw her wide eyes staring at him, laid with _her._

Why wouldn’t she just _tell him?_

Connor hesitated, before giving in and letting his reconstruction software take over. Overlapping images, fragments of data swam across the HUD, fizzling out like the walls he shattered to become deviant — he couldn’t see, couldn’t remember, but he could _feel_ it.

He could feel her. 

In a flash of sudden realization, Connor knew what he had to do — what he wanted to do, even if he didn’t understand. While she stared at him in carefully-veiled concern, Connor leaned down and took her lips in his.

**// Sync In Progress…**

**// Processing Data…**

**// Substance ???: Diisostearyl Malate, Polyglyceryl-2, Triisosterate, Hydrogenated Polyisobutene, Silica Dimethyl Silyate, Prunus Amygdalus Dulcis (Sweet Almond) Oil, Calendula Officinalis Flower Oil, Rose Flower Oil…**

Connor let his joints move without commanding them, as if he was a puppet, playing out a part written for him — it was familiar, yet not at all like when CyberLife controlled him. This felt _right._ She let out a little startled gasp against his chassis and Connor’s wires lit up with a thrill before he forced himself to pull back.

But she stopped him, a secure grip on his forearm held him in place, mere inches from her face. Although Connor could easily break free from her grasp, he let her keep him there, waiting as she struggled with her words.

“You… remember?” She settled on, voice barely above a whisper.

The scene swam, glitching out in places as Connor’s reconstruction software struggled and lagged, but he refused to switch it off when her eyes looked at him, so full of hope.

“It seems so.”

The words left his mouth before he’d had time to consider them, and just as her eyes widened in shock, a fractured piece of the memory fell into clarity — stark clarity of her body under his hands, their lips meeting over and over on the once-clean couch in the living room.

Connor wasn’t sure who initiated the next kiss — uncertain whether it was him or her or both of them gravitating toward each other per the part they each played under something else’s control. Connor let that lead him. Or was she leading him? — leading him to press closer to her, the drag of her body against his illuminating his sub-dermal sensors in a way that he couldn’t remember, but registered as familiar somewhere deep in his code.

Each quick, desperate press of her lips against his, each little gasp she gave against his throat when he pulled back to let her breathe, each quickening beat of her heart pulled Connor deeper. Deeper he fell into the meshing of reconstruction and reality, unbothered by the flickering mess across his HUD when he could _feel_. Her skin was so warm, almost burning hot and pliant under his fingertips when he dug them into her frame, when he trailed kisses against her shoulder, when he pulled her comforting body closer to his.

“I missed you so much,” She whispered, sounding oddly choked as she brushed her thumb across his cheekbone,” I-I thought…” Her voice cracked slightly, and she blinked furiously, wetness gathering at the ends of her lashes.

Connor didn’t know what to say. He knew he’d been gone — that _something off_ felt more and more right the closer he was with her, but it still sat there, uncomfortable and cumbersome, undeniably heavy. Connor sensed it in his code, stirring and pushing him. He saw it in her eyes, the reservation, the pain, the uncontainable hope.

The fingers of his hand drifted up to her, taking her hand in his, “I’m right here.”

She shivered. Hesitantly, her fingers worked to mirror Connor's, so their hands pressed palm to palm, fingers to fingers, and she watched him expectantly. After a moment, Connor released the prompt to retract his synthetic skin, relishing in the increased warmth of her skin when he did. 

**// Can you hear me?**

The stream of data flowed from the pad of his fingers, escaping his code and chassis without initiation. Connor couldn’t help but shudder when the corner of her lips turned up pleasantly, and she pushed back against him.

She was human. She couldn’t _really_ hear him, understand him, but somehow she knew. 

**// I’m sorry.**

Connor didn’t know what he was sorry for. When he tried to recall, his memory glitched out. He couldn’t yet parse through the mess of corrupted reconstructions and files, but he _felt_ sorry. His code stirred unpleasantly, pushing the need to apologize to the forefront of his directives until he let it loose.

She didn’t reply — well, not with words. She hesitated for a moment, then rushed forward and captured his lips in another kiss and pulled him closer. Errors popped into existence across Connor’s HUD, but he ignored them as he dug his fingers into her soft skin, processors whirling as he struggled to differentiate between the reconstructions and the present.

Connor kept the connection open, letting the occasional slips of data pass from the sensors in his fingers to hers as he allowed the fractured code from his memory to lead his careful touch under the hem of her shirt, across her body.

He thought he remembered the feel of her under his bare hands.

He thought he remembered the sound of her breathy sighs.

He thought he remembered the way her hair sprawled around her head like a puddled halo in the sheets.

But he _definitely_ remembered the way his components sparked when her fingers snaked around to open his chassis. _Why?_ Connor tried to recall the maintenance he deduced that she performed on his old body, but couldn’t — and even if she _did,_ why would anticipatory currents race across wires that were never repaired? Why was he on the verge of overheating?

Oh.

An alien, staticky sound escaped Connor when her warm fingertips brushed against the mess of wires he’d exposed without prompting when her curious, drifting hand grew close to the data port at the back of his neck. Her touches were gentle, exploratory, and she kept observing him, half-lidded eyes trained on him watchfully. Connor wanted to ask what she was doing, and why, but that _something_ in his code that stirred and coaxed him to run his hands across her body and hold her close, also silenced him,prompting more corrupted reconstructions.

_“You’ll… you’ll tell me if I hurt you?”_

Connor didn’t see her mouth move, but he recognized her voice, although glitched, and nodded.

“I trust you.”

And he did, he realized. Even though Connor knew he was missing time, memories, the stirring in his code reassured him as the room cracked and splintered, flickering between her real body under his hands, and the broken reconstructions in his memory. Red static colored every surface, on and off, as Connor shivered under her ministrations.

He _knew_ this. He felt it.

Pressing his lips to hers yet again, incessantly, Connor stroked her, adoring how she felt against him, under him, around him, both in reality and in the bits of memory he pulled to the forefront— to relive again, for the first time.

“Connor, please…” Her voice from his audio processors overlaid one of his memories, “I need you.”

Connor didn’t understand. He needed _her,_ not the other way around. He needed her and the way she worked her gentle fingers over the most intricate parts of himself. He needed the way she sought to make him feel good, although he was an android and unfamiliar to a human. He needed the way she cared for him, repairing his injuries with a tenderness he didn’t know was possible.

He needed the way she was his everything, drawing him back even after he forgot this.

There wasn’t any warning when her probing touches caused him to almost overload, and his systems forced him into low-power mode for a soft reboot.

**// MODEL RK800**

**// SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 52**

**// BIOS 7.4 REVISION 0483**

**// REBOOT…**

 

**// PREVIOUS MEMORY UPLOAD**

 

**// LOADING OS…**

**// SYSTEM INITALIZATION…**

**// CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS…OK**

**// INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK**

**// INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… OK**

 

**// MEMORY STATUS… CORRUPTED**

**// ALL SYSTEMS… OK**

 

**// READY**

“…Connor?”

His eyes fluttered open following the reboot, and he saw her staring at him with slight concern — not from the low power mode, but something else, judging from her reserved glance and the way she was chewing her bottom lip.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked uneasy. “Are you… alright?”

Connor opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. Although his social relations program urged him to respond, _“yes, I’m fine, thank you,”_ Connor didn’t feel this was right — there was something else that begged to worm its way from his memory fragments, from the fluctuating bits of code that felt so _right._

“I think I’m obsessed with you.”

The words slipped out, seemingly loud although Connor admitted them quietly. They settled into the air, surrounding android and human as they laid side-by-side in the tangled sheets, one plastic and metal limb over flesh and blood. A couple of moments passed, and Connor let the words hang heavily as her eyes widened further and her bottom lip quivered, until a small laugh bubbled out of her chest.

Oh. Connor wasn’t expecting that. 

Tilting his head curiously, he murmured, “I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s so funny.”

“You are,” She seemed to suck in a breath, but was still smiling brightly — it made Connor’s components hum happily with her as she finished, “You are, you beautiful android.”

Without warning, she leaned forward to press a kiss to Connor’s temple, right where his LED circled and rested a delicate hand over his chest.

“I was so worried,” She continued, voice much quieter, “I tried everything I could but… your memories were corrupted, and I thought there was nothing more I could do.”

Connor wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He let her curl her fingers against his chassis plates and patiently waited for her to continue.

“But…” She trailed off before meeting his gaze again, beautiful eyes brimming with that familiar hope, “You’re still you.”

Connor’s reply was cut short when she slowly leaned in again to kiss him on the lips this time, much gentler then the hungry kisses they’d exchanged just moments ago, and he marveled in their difference, how he couldn’t decide which he preferred.

“Welcome back, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Call tech support. I think I’m broken.  
> Hank: But she just fixed you.  
> Connor: Well she did a shit job then.  
> MC *Crashing through Hank’s window*: FIRST OFF, HOW DARE YOU.


End file.
